


A Long Thaw

by aurilly



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cameos from most of the Golden Age cast, Crossover Pairings, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Friendship, Golden Age (Narnia), M/M, Parallels, Post-Thor (2011), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: Loki falls off the Bifrost and into a land full of powerful magic, exhaustingly earnest creatures, and monarchs who are kind without being idiots.Narnia is a lot to take in.





	1. Prologue

**_Duffer Island – 3rd year of Caspian X’s reign_ **

Lucy turned to the next page of the Magician’s book. Silently mouthing the words at the top of the page, she read, “For the granting of the heart’s desire.”

Unlike Eustace, she had read all the right books. In almost every story about spells and wishes, the wish-maker had seen his or her request granted, but in a twisted way, resulting in annoying side effects and overall regret for having bothered at all. No wonder the spell to let you know what your friends thought about you had caused her nothing but pain. No wonder Aslan had roared her away from the beautifying spell. 

However, there was one type of wish that always turned out well: those made unselfishly, for the benefit of others. Even the Duffers knew this; it was why they had sent her here.

As she traced her fingers under the title of this page’s spell, Lucy’s mind went to her brother. At this very instant, he was probably keeping Caspian and Eustace and the others calm through quiet force of personality, all while stifling his worry for her safety. The way he always did. Edmund, who bottled pain so effectively that strangers sometimes assumed he felt nothing at all. Unlike Peter, who had been old enough to almost immediately resume the independence to which he’d grown accustomed, or Susan, who had, with mixed results, set out to rewrite every regret, Edmund, ever since their first return from Narnia, had faced fortune’s volleys with the practical, resigned stoicism of a broken heart. 

“I will say it, I will!” Lucy said aloud, breaking the eerie silence. “Anyway, it’s nothing to do with me. It’s for Edmund.” As with the beautifying spell, she was largely trying to convince herself, because if her guess about what Edmund’s heart most desired was correct, Lucy would enjoy the result almost as much.

She said the words and mimicked the illustrated gestures that moved helpfully, instructively, like cartoon hands in a flipbook. This spell ranked among the longest she’d seen so far, so it took some moments of deep concentration before she, with expectant excitement, finally let her hands fall on either side of the book. She waited for some acknowledgement of success, a sound or a light, perhaps, but nothing happened.

Eventually, she gave up, turned the page, and found the spell she had come for.

 _A spell to make hidden things visible_.

This time, Lucy knew at once that it was working, because pictures appeared in the margins of the page. Almost as soon as she had finished, she heard a quiet, catlike tread behind her. Wildly, she thought, of course, I was too impatient, it had merely needed a few more minutes, since he would be coming from very far away indeed…

But when she turned around, she saw Aslan, the only person in the whole world—in any world—she would have preferred to see, not just at that moment, but at all moments. For a few minutes, her joy drove away all other thoughts.

Later, however, she asked him, “Why didn’t it work? The heart’s desire spell, I mean. Did I mispronounce the words?” For they had been tricky words indeed—all tongue-twisting consonants interspersed with elongated ‘oo’ sounds.

“You cast it as well as any master magician could have.”

“Then why didn’t…?”

With a tone somewhere between teasing and seriousness, Aslan said, “You seem rather certain of your brother’s heart. Are you certain the wish was for Edmund’s happiness only?”

Lucy sighed. “So that was the trouble after all. I guessed as much. I tried to keep myself out of it, but it _is_ hard, you know.”

“A spell caster’s laylines are unique, necessary for and inextricable from the casting. There is no way to ‘keep out of it’ entirely. However, when the object of desire is a person, the magic complicates. Both hearts must want the same thing, at the same time, with no hesitation or uncertainty.”

Lucy thought about it, remembered whom she was trying to summon. Her face fell at the implication of Aslan’s words. “You don’t mean to say that he might…”

“A heart’s desire, as understood by this sort of magic, is singular,” Aslan answered, without answering at all. “It may be yet to come, or have already been fulfilled. And has not Edmund already experienced wish-fulfillment and second chances beyond the lot of most? Have not they both?”

Aslan’s words made it plain (as plain as Aslan ever made anything) that it was no use. By the time she and the Magician went down to see Edmund and Caspian and the Duffers, Lucy had put the incident out of her mind entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki woke from a nightmare about falling. Endless falling through the nothingness of non-space. His heart sank when the streaks of pain running up his back and the echo of the void’s rushing wind confirmed the nightmare, and everything that had come before, as a reality.

Harmless streaks of clouds filled the sky directly overhead. Loki flexed his fingers, digging into the earth below them. They sank into something damp and springy, possibly moss. Gently, almost imperceptibly, he tried to move more than his fingers, but there were branches twined around his arms and legs, holding him in a strangely intimate manner, half embrace, half restraint. 

Somewhere nearby, a group of odd voices—all gruffles and squeaks and wheezing—was holding a conference. 

“What should we do with her?”

“We must take her to the king. He’ll know what to do.”

“Keep her tied up just in case.”

“Of course,” the others said in unison, with mumbles of, “Do you think I was born last season?”

“Keeping her tied up won’t do us much good if she’s the same sort as the Witch,” one of them said. 

“She doesn’t have a wand, though, which gives us a good chance. The Witch wasn’t much good without her wand.”

Loki assumed the object of their discussion was another prisoner who must have also lain bound nearby, a female. And whoever this witch they were talking about was, she must have been rather useless. Loki had never needed a wand to do magic. Although, today, one might have come in handy. Something about the fall must have disrupted his equilibrium, because he kept trying to cast something, anything, that might free him, and yet nothing happened. 

An oversized rodent approached to peer over him, blocking the view of the sky. 

“She’s awake! She’s awake!” it cried, with startling intelligibility.

“I am a man,” Loki corrected, annoyed, but also shocked. He hadn’t expected the thing to speak. Neither had he imagined _he_ might be the prisoner under discussion. 

“I tried to tell you, Trip,” a new and much lovelier voice said, directly behind Loki’s ear, though he was bound too fast to turn his head and see. “I told you it wasn’t a woman.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for thinking so. He’s got the same snow and coal coloring that _she_ had. Same nasty expression, too.”

As response, Loki leveled an even nastier one at it. Trip jumped back and out of sight.

A new face came into view, looming over Loki. This, at least, was a creature he recognized, though much smaller than he had ever seen. A dwarf with an inquisitive face and a thick red beard that cascaded down to his knees, practically tickling Loki’s cheek. There was also another animal beside him, black and white and with a pointed snout. Loki recalled a picture of such a creature in a book of ‘Intergalactic Beasts & Their Habitats’ that he and Thor had been made to memorize as children. If he remembered correctly, it was called a badger. 

“Good morning neighbor,” the dwarf said.

“Do you restrain all your neighbors?” Loki replied, struggling against his bonds.

“No, but we’ve had trouble with strangers,” the badger said. “Witches and invaders and whatnot. You dropping out of the sky the way you did… Can’t be too careful. If you’ll just tell us who you are and—”

“With every minute I spend in these bonds, I increasingly become your enemy,” Loki spat. “I am Loki Odinson, prince of Asgard. Heir to the realm eternal…” Then he sputtered and trailed off, because he was nothing of the sort. Any of it. All the horror of the previous few days washed over him anew. His usual introduction, so often delivered, no longer carried the weight of conviction. However, the truth was too new for him to have formulated a revised speech, so he stopped, slumped, and confessed, “My name is Loki.”

“That’s more like it,” the dwarf nodded. “I’m Duffle. The one whose house you broke.”

Loki did remember breaking his fall on a structure that could have been a small house. It explained the pain in his back.

“If you behave, you’ll be out of these bonds soon enough,” the badger said. “Come, let’s have you sit up.”

Loki felt the branches around him unwind a bit. His hands and feet remained bound, but he was now free enough to turn see what was holding him. Loki stared into the face of a beautiful maiden with red-tinted hair. She was tall, as tall as an Aesir. If he had ever seen a deciduous forest, he would have recognized her as a maple tree in late summer. But, since he hadn’t, he simply saw a strange and lovely girl. One who was also, confusingly, a tree.

His appreciation must have shown plainly on his face, because Trip whispered, “Admire while you can. She’ll be bald in a few months. Once autumn comes, you know.”

An errant branch—or arm?—swatted the insulting creature to the ground.

“Will you release me?” Loki asked politely, amazed.

“Would you not prefer my embrace, beautiful one?” she asked, in a voice like an evening’s zephyr. It was she who had spoken before, who had known he was a man. “You remind me of a white birch, with beautiful green leaves. So tall. What dances we would dance. I might even let you lead.” But for all her honeyed words, she held him fast.

“We’re taking you for a walk,” the dwarf said. “Hyacinth, give him the use of his legs.”

The tree-girl did as she was bid, but kept a branch wrapped around Loki’s wrists, behind his back. She tickled his palm with a leaf, in what must have been intended as flirtation.

“Would you like us to feed you breakfast first?” the badger said kindly. “I’m afraid it’s rather a long trek.”

Loki groaned. These creatures were all so appallingly _hearty_. Of all the realms he could have fallen into…

He hated this place already.

* * *

They made a strange procession through the forest, with the dwarf leading the way, Trip scampering back and forth and all around their ankles, Hyacinth stroking Loki every few steps, and the badger sniffling constantly (it was allegedly recovering from a head cold, but Loki felt sure it was doing it on purpose, as some sort of advanced torture technique). Loki kept stumbling over rocks and bashing his head into branches, for these paths had been cleared for medium-sized woodland creatures, or children, not men. 

His captors were, without exception, the most loquacious group of idiots Loki had ever met. Their chatter was so stupid that he almost felt nostalgia for Volstagg’s drunken treatises on the language of belches. In between tiresome talk about the woeful state of the honey supply, complaints about the new iron ore tax, and gossip about a scandal in the swamps, Loki learned that this land was called Narnia. 

And that was about all the useful information he was able to glean. Loki had heard of talking animals before, of course, but in all the tales and myths, they usually spoke only when necessary, and with great solemnity and wisdom, not like these nitwits.

A few hours in, while sloshing through a creek—had they no bridges in this hellscape?—they came upon a bear sunning himself after a plentiful fish lunch. Having nothing better to do with his time, he decided to join them. 

Every moment of the walk brought fresh misery.

Loki kept a probing silence, resisting all their solicitous questioning in favor of musing on his situation. With the Bifrost destroyed, he was stuck here. Fallen from Asgard, Odin awake, Thor reinstated, the thousand-year peace treaty with the Jotun destroyed. He had left a pretty chaos, to which it would be unwise to return, even if he knew how. Moreover, any Jotun that had survived his attack would likely be searching for him, demanding Odin to bring Loki to justice.

And that was the benefit of this Narnia place, he decided. Heimdall had always said there were more worlds, infinitely many, some even outside his view, hidden by larger ones. Loki guessed this was one of those, and therefore, a perfect place to hide. 

Despite the dullness of its inhabitants, Loki could already sense the promise this realm offered. Since the moment he had awoken, he had felt powerful magic surrounding him. With every inhalation, he breathed potent magic into his lungs—a deeper, earthier, _fresher_ kind than that to which he was accustomed. In contrast to the old, cold magic of Asgard, which manifested in rocks and artifacts, the magic here wove its way through living things. The grass, the trees, even the damn rodent all reeked of it. He wondered how the others could stand it. Perhaps they’d become accustomed to it, or were all so full of magic themselves that they didn’t notice it. Loki longed to know what kind of magic this was, and to learn it.

And it wasn’t only the scent of magic that attracted his notice. Loki had never _heard_ magic before; however, the echo of a wild song, which in other worlds had either never existed or had long ago faded away, thrummed faintly here. Softer than a bee buzzing a few paces away, but discernible to those with keen ears who knew to listen for it. 

Whatever magic suffused this place, it had also made the creatures bigger and stronger than normal. Asgardian—or Jotun, he thought with a shudder—strength had usually been enough to free him from bonds on other realms. However, this tree woman was able to hold him fast, with a mere couple of twigs. He had no choice but to keep walking, following their lead. 

“How much farther?” he asked in the late afternoon, the first words he had spoken in hours. 

“We should be there before sunset, dearie,” the badger said. “I hope we aren’t too late to catch the king.”

Loki had never been called ‘dearie’ before, and hoped he never would be again. Channeling his annoyance into more productive plotting, he began to think of what lay ahead of him, at the end of this walk. He would need to ingratiate himself with this king of theirs. Loki wondered what manner of monster he must be, to rule over such a populace. 

“What is he like?” he asked.

“Turning into a chatty one, are we?” Trip asked. 

“The king’s the sort who gets right to business, doesn’t fall for any hooey. ’The Just’, we call him,” the dwarf said. “He’ll sort you out.”

This told Loki very little, and the phrase ‘sort you out’ filled him with dread. He imagined a great, horrible beast with enormous claws and jaws, ready to gobble him up. Not dissimilar from the stories of Frost Giants he and Thor had been told as boys.

As if that weren’t enough enough, there was also the uncanny feeling that he was being watched. A dark flash in the bushes here, the soft tread of paws there, yellow eyes in the trees that vanished as soon as he looked up. No one else seemed to notice it, but Loki had always had a particular attunement to the shadows.

The sun had already begun its downward trajectory by the time they crested a hill and spotted the palace. Compared with the one in Asgard, this might have been a toy castle. It looked like the ones he had scribbled in his notebooks while bored at lessons as a child. Nonetheless, it was a pretty place, picturesquely perched on a cliff overlooking the sea.

A new sort of creature, this time with a man’s top half and a goat’s bottom half, stood sentry at the entrance to the drawbridge. There were five of them, chatting gaily, with their spears propped along the wall. Frigga would have had them sacked for negligence. However, their carelessness only fanned Loki’s fears, because if this king allowed his sentries to indulge in such laxities, it must mean that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. The vision of the beast formulated itself even more clearly and terrifyingly in Loki’s imagination. 

Instead of jumping to attention, the sentries waved gaily when they saw Loki’s escorts approach.

“Been a long time, Duffle,” one of them said. “What brings you this far north?”

“Got a case for the king.” Duffle jerked his head in Loki’s direction. “Is his majesty in?”

“I haven’t seen him come out today, so he ought to be,” the goat creature said. “Take him in through the courtyard gate. You know the way?”

“I do,” the badger said. “My cousin was a royal historian until she passed a few years ago. I used to visit her here.”

Loki stifled a groan at the thought. Badgers as historians. What a country.

“Excellent. Means I don’t have to show you.” The goat creatures let them pass and resumed their conversation. Something about the latest dance steps.

Loki and his jailers crossed the drawbridge and entered a well-tended garden.

“Goodness me!” a voice said from nearby. 

Loki looked around, but it was not until he looked to the left and down that he spotted its source. A young woman stood waist-deep in a hole, holding a shovel. A mole’s head appeared beside her, straining to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.

The girl wore a plan, thin shift that would have been the color of a stormy sunset if not for the mud caked into the fabric. Long blonde hair, poorly contained in fat, sprouting plaits, whipped around her face and shoulders. The glob of soil on her cheek must have itched, because she swiped the back of her hand across her face in an effort to rub it off; however, this resulted only in smearing it all over her face. 

She was the first person Loki had seen all day, and as much of a disaster as the beasts. He should have expected nothing less.

“What’s all this?” she asked, looking up at the little party. 

“Bringing a dangerous political prisoner to face his majesty’s justice,” Duffle said importantly, with a low bow, probably in order to see her in the hole.

“On what charges?” 

“Assassination attempt.”

“Oh, please,” Loki began to protest, having reached the end of his patience along with the end of his journey. 

“An assassination attempt on whom?” the girl asked, casting a curious glance at Loki, but politely keeping her attention on her interlocutor. 

“Duffle. The assassin fell on his roof,” the bear explained. 

“That sounds very serious indeed,” she said with an amused twinkle that betrayed a little more wit than her appearance had at first suggested.

She climbed out of the hole and stepped close to Loki, going on high tiptoes so that her face hovered mere inches away from his. “Hello, I’m Lucy,” she said, all friendliness, as though he were not bound and reportedly homicidal. “What’s your name?”

Loki leaned into her, breathed her in, because here, for the first time all day, was something—someone—who smelled and sounded like _nothing_ , as though she didn’t belong in this whimsical nightmare at all. She was, quite literally, a breath of fresh air. If his arms had been free, and if she’d been anything but the garden wench, and, he might have hugged her in relief. But he needed to save his wits for this king of theirs, not waste his energy with the servants. So, he pursed his lips and looked away, refusing to answer.

“Stuck up, I see,” she said. “More’s the pity, because we don’t get a lot of people… you know… _people_ people… here.”

“He’s been like that all day, your—” Trip began to say, but the girl shushed him with a gentle hand over his mouth and another mischievous twinkle.

When Loki still refused to answer, she shook her head and picked up her sodden skirts. “Very well. Have it your way. I’ll find the king. Take him to the throne room, won’t you, dears?” 

And with that, she took off at a run and disappeared into the palace through a side door. Hyacinth half-nudged, half-caressed Loki to keep walking on to the main archway. Upon entering the actual walls of the palace, a new set of guards—terrifying wolves this time, with magically enforced steel cuffs—took over his custody. Hyacinth released him with a windy sigh. 

“And so, we part, my love,” she said.

“The regret is all yours, I’m sure.” Loki’s interest had died away during the walk, when it became clear that her desire for him would not outweigh her sense of duty.

The interior of the palace surpassed even its cozy exterior. An intricately carved ivory ceiling spread overhead. Loki could almost see the preservatory magic on the colorful peacock feathers that lined the corridors. 

The quiet procession finally reached the throne room, which faced east, towards the sea. The last dregs of daylight filtered through stained glass windows and formed a picture on the opposite wall that was wholly dissimilar to the windows’ design. It depicted a procession of animals and other creatures through the forest.

At the far end of the wall of stained glass doors was an arched window nook, just like the ones back home in which Loki had liked to while away the afternoons. A young man of about Loki’s age nestled picturesquely in it, with his head and back supported by a thick burgundy pillow and his feet propped up high on the wall. Like Loki on those lovely afternoons, he held a thick book, but his head swiveled sideways, not up, when he heard the commotion entering the room, signaling that he’d been looking out at the sea, daydreaming instead of reading. 

Long legs in tight green breeches swung down to the floor. Bony fingers set the book carefully aside, and the young man stood up. He was a couple of inches shorter than Loki, but emanated a calm knowingness that made him seem as tall as Thor. Fair and clean-shaven, his face was handsome enough, but his air—the self-possession of one who is amusedly accustomed to command—made him more attractive than he otherwise might have been. 

Framed by the window and with late-day sunlight streaming in around him, the man’s hair glinted almost blindingly. It took Loki a second to realize that some of the glinting actually came from the crown nestled among the man’s unruly locks. At the same moment that he noticed it, everyone around him bowed.

Loki stared with reluctant admiration. This good-looking young man could not have been a farther cry from the beast he had spent all day dreading. A flush of embarrassed heat ran up the back of Loki’s neck as the king looked him up and down, gaze intelligent and assessing, as warm as a lick of fire. All the old fears of inadequacy returned. Automatically, he wished for this young king to approve of him, for reasons that he told himself were solely about self-preservation. He needed to be liked, respected, in order to make it through this sham of a trial and win allies in this new realm. That was all, he reminded himself.

“What’s all this?” the king asked, the same phrase the girl had used.

Loki’s escort erupted into a tangle of voices that conveyed nothing. While they talked over each other, the girl from the garden came careening into the room. She’d donned a simple but luxurious blue gown, but the dirty shift underneath still showed when she moved. She’d pinned her plaits up, but Loki could still see a few thistles in her hair.

“There you are!” she said to the king. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, only to find you exactly where you were wanted. Isn’t that always how it is? There’s someone here for you to try, some sort of attempted murder case, but I suppose you’ve already figured that out for yourself.”

“Apologies for descending upon you unannounced, your majesties,” Duffle said.

Loki froze at the pluralization of ‘majesties’. Between first the king, and now this revelation, all the speeches and scenarios he had spent the walk rehearsing fizzled into impossibility, leaving left wholly unprepared for this interview.

“No need to apologize.” The king pulled out a handkerchief, dipped it into a golden jug on a nearby table, and said, “Oh, Lu. Come here.” 

She stood still while he wiped the smear of dirt from her face, dabbing at her forehead with such tenderness that Loki looked away in embarrassment and a flicker of jealousy.

“I say, have you seen...” she asked when he was finished.

“You left it in the breakfast room this morning.”

The king pointed to the last of four thrones that stretched in a row on a dais. A crown hung from one of the arms. It had been fashioned out of a single diamond that in its totality would have been as big as Loki’s head. Loki had never before seen such a magnificent jewel. He couldn’t believe such wealth existed here, in this barnyard of a realm, and had no idea how anyone could misplace such a treasure. 

The girl exclaimed in grateful delight and set it firmly on her head. With slightly more ceremony than they had hitherto exhibited, she and the king lowered themselves into the two thrones on the right. Loki thought it odd that they took those, instead of the central ones, but then he noticed that the one at the far left was actually the grandest. The king and queen must have had two sets, he decided: one for important occasions and one for everyday use. They had subtly but purposefully chosen to display their superiority over him by sitting in the lesser ones.

The girl—queen—caught Loki staring, and laughed merrily. 

“Not _only_ a gardener,” she said, with a knowing hint of chastisement. 

“Oh, a snob, is he?” the king asked.

“He practically sneered.” 

She had planned this, Loki now saw; she had shushed Trip in order to teach Loki this gentle lesson. They turned to him with disconcertingly identical expressions of disappointment. They had scarcely begun, yet Loki could tell that he had already failed a very important test.

“I am King Edmund, and this is the Queen Lucy. You have been brought here on charges of violence against the citizens of Narnia.”

“Your majesties,” Loki began, in his most charming manner. “I fear there has been some misunderstanding.”

“I hope there has,” the king replied with a gentle smile, which he immediately swallowed back into a stern frown. “What is your name?”

“Loki. King… I mean, Prince...” Loki uncharacteristically stammered. The endless twists of the day, of the days _before_ , of this entire realm had overwhelmed him. His parched throat (never mind that they’d offered him water all day, water that he’d refused). His reversed expectations about the king. This girl who had turned out to be a queen. The lingering headache he sustained from the fall and which left him dizzy and dissociated from his magic… It had all left him rather off his game.

“I don’t understand. Which is it?” the queen asked. “King or Prince?”

“Regardless of your rank, where do you come from, Loki?” the king tried next.

Narnia was obviously the kind of isolated, backwater realm whose inhabitants assumed their little world was the sum total of the universe. Asgard’s policy had always been to keep such people in the dark about the truth, for the preservation of their fragile minds. He thought it best to follow suit here. They would never be able to comprehend, much less believe, the truth.

“I come from the south of here. I am but a merchant, picked up by an eagle—” Loki hoped there were eagles here, “—and dropped into your—” 

“You’re lying,” the king said calmly, that disappointed expression now turning into an even more disappointed frown.

“I assure your majesty…”

“He _did_ fall from the sky, your highness,” Trip squeaked.

“A Calormene spy, we thought,” the badger said.

“He has not the look,” the king said. “And Calormene generally travel by land. Or ship.”

“He is a portent of doom,” a new voice said. A magnificent creature—one of the most venerated in the universe—clomped into the room. A centaur, with a beautiful brown flank and sculpturally defined torso. Gravely, he continued, “A star too ill-fated, too ill-favored to ever have shone. A changeling, too stunted, treacherous, and unlikable for any of the other stars to have chosen him as a partner in the dance. So, he was cast down among us as punishment for his crimes, where—”

“Where we are less choosy, and more welcoming,” the king finished decisively, and with surprising kindness. He’d caught Loki’s wounded wince as the centaur hit a little too close to home. “Our defendant is hardly stunted or ill-favored, as you can see. Perhaps you have the wrong man.”

“But I told you, only this morning…” the centaur said.

“I remember,” the king all but snapped. 

Loki was stunned. King or no king, no one snapped at a centaur. And somewhere in the king’s speech, he thought he detected half a compliment, and therefore hope for leniency.

“Tell me, good Narnians,” the king continued, turning back to Loki’s rabble of an escort party. “What are the charges against this man?”

“It happened like this,” the badger began, and after a while, it seemed that she might never cease, because the others kept interrupting.

Once the facts of the case, such as they were, had been adumbrated, the king silenced them with a firmly raised hand.

“The queen said he was brought here on charges of attempted murder, but as far as I can see, this was nothing worse than an accident. The crown will pay for the repairs to your roof, Duffle.”

“But it isn’t natural, your majesty!” Trip squeaked. “Falling out of the thin air. It’s criminal.”

Odin would have punished the rodent for his rudeness, but this king barely seemed to care, all without seeming weak or soft. He ignored the tone of the outburst to focus on the content. “I don’t see how it is criminal. However, I do agree that it’s uncommon. And so I ask you again, stranger. How did you come to land on Duffle’s roof? The truth, this time.”

“I… I do not know how I arrived in your dominion. I was asleep in my bed and woke up here.”

The King’s clear brow wrinkled, making him look younger and yet even graver than before. 

“I will give you one last chance to tell the truth.”

“Why do you think I am lying?” 

“You have the pinched, peevish look of a liar and a traitor.”

“Or of someone suffering from the toothache,” the queen more charitably added. 

“Or that,” the king. “Either way, it is a look I know well. Better than most. So, try again.”

“The truth is less believable than any lie.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

And so, Loki told them, an edited version, of course, leaving out his treachery and true origins and the fight on the Bifrost. He told them how he was the younger son of the king of Asgard, how Asgard was the highest realm among the infinite in the multiverse, how he had fallen into the void that connected the realms, and awoken in Narnia. Without the details, it was hardly ‘true’, but not one word was a lie.

It was evidently not quite true enough, because the king leaned forward.

“And what more?” he probed, kindly, relentlessly. “How… no, _why_ did you fall? Because I doubt these voids dot the landscape so commonly. And you seem more graceful than clumsy. So, your departure must have been purposeful.”

Damn him, Loki thought. He was being forced to confess, to face the pivotal moment that he would have preferred to forget, to leave unexamined. In a soft voice, Loki choked out, “I had a falling out with my family. I… I chose to fall. But I did not know I would land here, nor even that such a realm as this existed.”

“Very good. Thank you.” The king nodded, satisfied at last.

“You believe me?” Loki wouldn’t have.

“Of course. Finding yourself transported here from another world _is_ the most plausible explanation.”

It took a lot to shock Loki, but this managed to do so. Not only had this king seen through his lies—which almost no one ever did—but he had accepted the existence of other realms with bland indifference, as though this sort of thing happened every day.

This realm and these rulers impressed their soothing strangeness upon Loki more and more with each passing minute. He shouldn’t have cared what they thought of him, but he did. Although they had remained many feet apart, something about the king called to him, made him want… want something far beyond the obvious (because again, he was pleasing to the eye, but no Adonis). Loki had never experienced such a pull before, something more than magic.

Since it seemed he had been cleared of all charges, as evidenced by their majesties’ cleared brows wiped-away frowns, Loki decided the time was as good as it ever would be to plead his side of the case. “Despite my innocence, your majesties, I have spent a terrible day at the hands of your people, walking with my hands bound behind my back, tripping my way across this land.”

“I have done the very same walk, and under similar bondage,” the king replied lightly. “But it could have been worse. Imagine if, in addition to hands bound, you had undertaken the walk through freezing snow and melting slush, wearing nothing but a thin shirt, short trousers and unsuitable shoes. All with the promise of having your throat slit at the end of the journey, instead of this pleasant conversation.”

It sounded as though the king were relating an anecdote that had happened to him, but Loki couldn’t understand how it could be true. Therefore, he took it as a veiled threat, and decided to complain no further. 

“Do you mean us harm?” the king asked, as though he expected an honest answer.

However, the previous line of questioning had left Loki momentarily flayed, and the truth came unbidden to his lips before he had wherewithal to hear himself and stop it. “Of course not. I merely plead for shelter in Narnia until… until I can find a way home again, or a way forward. Today, you find me at my most lost.”

Apparently, the king’s powers of divination really could read into Loki’s confused soul and see the truth there. He leaned back in his throne, satisfied. “Very well. I will consider it. But rest assured; even if I decide to have you turned out at the border, I will ensure you are supplied with a purse and weapons and supplies to help you on your journey. In the meanwhile, you may enjoy a night of our hospitality. I will see you again in the morning.”

The centaur, who’d been nursing his slights for the past few minutes, stepped up again. “There is also the Galman delegation, sire. They are set to sail soon, and could take him with them.” It was clear he was eager to be rid of Loki, for some reason.

“Ah, yes, Drumhoof. That is a helpful suggestion. Lucy, we have a spare room for our guest, have we not?”

The queen hopped off the dais and grabbed Loki’s hands, all disappointment at his previous snobbery evaporated. As though they were friends joined in a glorious conspiracy, she whispered, “I know just the room. It’s in the east wing, almost directly below mine. The sunrises from this side of the castle are so beautiful. I like to pretend we can see the peaks of Aslan’s country just beyond the horizon. You’ll love it, I’m certain.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Loki said stiffly. “I’ll look for them, if I wake early enough.” He had no idea who or what Aslan was, but the name filled him with irrational discomfort. 

Having learned how highly friendliness and humility were valued here, Loki made a show of bidding his escorts a gracious farewell. None of them were taken in. However, they soon forgot all about him, distracted by the queen’s promises of a light supper in the banquet hall. She seemed about to ask Loki to join them, but a subtle gesture from the king stopped her. 

The offer of a room was, Loki guessed, more of an order, and didn’t bode well for his chances of being allowed to stay. He shuddered to think of what horrors lay beyond the borders of this kingdom; Narnia was exhausting enough.

“Follow me, please,” a very… _wet_ … looking woman said, as drippy as Hyacinth had been brittle. While almost everyone—with the exception of the king, who, even as he conversed with others, kept an eye fixed on Loki’s movements—was distracted and moving out of one door, she led Loki out of another.

Simultaneously serving as guide and mop, she sloshed her way through a warren of lamp lit corridors and left him in a bedroom fit for a visiting prince. Finally alone and allowed to sit for the first time all day, he collapsed on the bed. Removing his boots was his first order of business; they had been on for entirely too many hours, and had begun to blister his heel. Shortly after he’d gotten them off, he heard a knock on the door.

A grey hare holding a silver tray hopped into the room.

“I’m Longear. Her majesty has appointed me your personal attendant during your stay. I’ve brought your supper. Where would you like the tray?”

“Over there is fine.” Loki gestured generally towards a wooden chest on top of which had been carved an elaborate lion’s head. There were lion heads everywhere in this place. If he could cover even one of them, he would count it as a victory. Something about that solemn face made him feel uneasy, peered into. He couldn’t bear it.

“I prefer a good bushel of carrots before bed myself, but you humans have your particularities. It’s been an education over the years, learning what their majesties like.”

Humans, Loki thought to himself. So that was what they were. It explained why the girl had been so uniquely devoid of magical aura. It explained why they had believed his story about coming from another world; their ancestors must have come from Midgard. Cunning perspicacity _and_ the ability to travel between realms… These mortals were powerful indeed, for all their friendly exteriors and fragile forms. He was glad that he had not revealed his magic, of which he could feel stirrings returning, now that he had had a moment’s freedom and relaxation; it would not do for them to think him even more of a threat than they already did. 

Something the hare had said struck him.

“Are their majesties the only humans in Narnia?”

“Yes, of course. Narnia belongs to the beasts and creatures, but was always meant to be ruled by a son of Adam or a daughter of Eve.”

Loki tried to pump Longear for information on the background of this place and what the king was most likely to decide (as well as who Adam and Eve were), but he found him just as confusingly incoherent as his earlier companions. He eventually gave up and dismissed him. 

Loki ate his, admittedly delicious, stew and cake and waited until he heard the noises of the palace soften. When he felt assured that almost everyone had gone to bed, he put his ear to the door. He could hear soft growling, probably more of the long-toothed wolves he had seen standing guard at various spots in the palace. When asked, the king would most likely say he’d provided the guard out of deference to Loki’s position, but Loki knew better. He was a guest here, but also a prisoner.

Luckily, he had never needed to rely on doors to gather information.

He flung open the windows and looked out. This side of the palace dropped directly into the sea. Loki put his hands on the windowsill, and concentrated. Within seconds, his fingers had transformed into claws, and the rest of him followed, bones twisting and feathers sprouting from his skin until he had become a beautiful black and white owl—a female, for sleeker shape and faster speeds—with big green eyes, and flecks of green and gold in his tail and wings. He tipped forward and let himself fall into the darkness before spreading his wings and taking flight. 

He remembered the queen’s words about being in a room below hers. He flew up and spotted her and the king sitting together on a sumptuous bed. He immediately dipped back down again, before they could see him, and perched on a conveniently placed ledge just underneath the open window.

“Well, I’d like to be welcomed as I was when I first arrived in Narnia, that’s all,” the queen was arguing. “I think we owe it to him, to anyone.”

“But you said it yourself. He’s an awful snob. He cut you rudely. Do you think I’ll stand for that?”

“Oh, I wasn’t upset, and therefore you shouldn’t be either. Perhaps they don’t teach good manners in this Asgard place. That doesn’t mean he can’t become a friend.”

“Not everyone is a potential friend, Lu. Not everyone is like you, coming to Narnia with the purest of intentions. He could be more like… I mean, he’s just as likely a rotter. A traitor, a liar, and a cheat, ready to sacrifice anything—family, friends—to get what he wants or prove himself, or steal a throne. You don’t really think he told us the whole story, do you?”

Loki felt a cold chill. How could this young king have possibly found him out, and so completely? He seemed so equable, but Loki knew too well, that great power often hid beneath placid exteriors. 

“Oh, Ed,” the queen said piteously. “You mustn’t beat—” 

“Do you know what Drumhoof told me, just this morning?” the king interrupted. “I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone and tell you. He came galloping in great haste to tell me how mischief and chaos had suddenly taken hold of the Great Dance, thrown everything out of step. He said something horrible must have entered Narnia for such a thing to happen. A prelude to some great upheaval. He said that not only had such a force entered Narnia, but that other forces would follow, hunting for it. I put him off, but what if Drumhoof is right? What if this Loki—”

“Oh, bother Drumhoof. You know how centaurs are. Everything with them is doom and despair. They’re worse than Marshwiggles. Don’t you remember a couple of years ago? The centaurs coming in great state to tell us how the stars foretold a great flood, everyone drowned, Narnia destroyed? And all that came of it was two weeks of much-needed rain. Perhaps the stars got bored of the usual steps and decided to try something new. And the thing about following is simply that other stars will follow their example. I know I would. A little mischief and chaos sound rather fun. And that,” she finished, “is why _I_ think we should keep him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Lu,” the king said, climbing another notch in Loki’s esteem by voicing the outraged reaction that he could not. “And I find the centaurs as gloomy and alarmist as you do, but there is usually _something_ to their prophesies. I mean, look at us! It would be foolish to ignore this one. This force that may come to hunt its prey…”

“If it’s meant to come, there’s nothing we can do about it. Even if we turned him out, it could be like those stories about an enemy razing _through_ a country on its way to its true destination. Like Rabadash wanted to do to Archenland. We’ll have to fight either way. Anyway, while I don’t think he has told us all, it is clear that he has recently suffered great pain and loss and confusion. It’s marked all over his face. He needs our help. I know he does. I say we at least ask him if he would like to stay. Everyone deserves a choice.” She paused, and then said, teasingly, “And he _is_ very handsome, isn’t he?” 

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” the king replied petulantly, embarrassed—no doubt miffed at having to listen to his wife’s gushing about another man.

“You’re completely transparent. You know that, don’t you? Don’t think I failed to see how—”

Loki heard violent scuffles and a shriek. The bed squeaked against the floorboards until Lucy moaned and gasped, “Mercy, mercy!”

“And now,” the king gasped once they’d calmed down, “will you grant _me_ mercy?”

“Fine. But only if you tickle my ankles,” she ordered.

“Oh, all right.”

They were unlikely to continue discussing his case during their intimacies, so Loki decided to return to his room and plan for how to convince the king in the morning to give him sanctuary. Loki didn’t much like what he’d seen of Narnia so far, but between staying in this comfortable palace and exploring this realm on his own, he much preferred the former. And the second part of the centaur’s prophesy had made his blood run slow with fear; if anything were to follow him, here, it would likely be the Jotun, looking for revenge. If that happened, Loki would need the full protection of the king and queen, and the strange magic that permeated this land, which they could probably summon to his aid.

He was about to take off again when an owl—a real one—settled beside him.

“Too- _whooooo_ ,” it said. “Whoooo are _youuuuu?_ ” It shifted even closer, practically brushing its feathers against Loki’s. 

It wouldn’t do to let the king or queen hear how close eavesdroppers sat, so Loki hopped off the ledge and flew away. He could hardly go back to his room and allow someone to witness his transformation, so he took off in the direction of the mainland.

The owl gave chase. It was a large grey male, with a great wingspan. 

“I haven’t seen you before,” it said in flight. “I would have remembered such a beauty.”

“I’m recently arrived from the southern territory. Good evening.” 

Loki increased his speed and pulled ahead, swerving into the forest. He flew as fast as he could until he felt satisfied that he’d lost his unwelcome admirer. He emerged at the top of a hill where the trees grew very wide apart. From there, he could see another hill. Something dark sat in the clearing at the top, looming in the moonlight. Something Loki felt might be worth investigating. It was farther than it looked, but when he finally reached it, the dark mass turned out to be a grim slab of grey stone supported on four upright stones. A primitive looking table that had been split down the middle. 

As he grew closer, he saw that it was cut all over with lines and figures. They looked freshly carved despite having been left to the elements. He landed on the table and traced the runes with his talons. He recognized the language as one of the most ancient in the universe, though he’d never been able to find anyone to teach it to him. He felt almost overpowered by the magic emanating off it, stronger than anything he’d felt so far, in any realm. He marveled at the magical energy it must have taken to rend this massive slab in half.

“Lovely night, isn’t it? Too-whooo,” a voice said from nearby.

Loki looked up and saw his pursuer landing on the table near him.

“You followed me?”

“You fly very fast. Very prettily,” it said, drawing closer. “The kind of speed any bird would want in a mate.” 

“What do you know of this table?” Loki asked, deciding to take advantage of the owl’s otherwise unwanted attention. “What magic caused it to crack?”

“You _are_ from far down south, if you don’t know about the Stone Table.”

“Yes, I have been… very sheltered.”

“And all the more charming for it. But to answer your question, no one knows for certain. It happened ten or fifteen years ago, about the time when their majesties defeated the Witch and her hundred-year winter finally ended. Some think Aslan drew power from it to defeat her, and in doing so, broke it. Others think the it was the Witch who, as a last resort, tried to draw power from it, in order to turn the entirety of Narnia into stone, all at once, instead of only individual by individual.. but the table resisted her and broke rather than let her use it. There are also rumours that it has something to do with King Edmund, but only nasty liars say that, under their breaths.” 

This was the second time Loki had heard the name ‘Aslan’, but he could tell that everyone was familiar with it, even more familiar than with the table; asking for information would betray him as a foreigner. However, he had learned something: the king had taken this land, not inherited it, and the queen must have been his partner, in addition to his wife. The Witch who’d been mentioned earlier that day had been a queen, and more powerful than he’d first assumed. Turning people to stone took very advanced magic. Loki had only ever heard of it in an old myth about Frost Giants that Nurse had used to tell him and Thor as children, in order to frighten them into obedience.

Those two humans had somehow defeated a very powerful sorceress, when they had been only children. The information whetted Loki’s appetite to learn more, but he knew he ought to be getting back, in case the wolves really decided to check on him.

“It is late. You will excuse me.”

“You haven’t told me your name!”

“You have hardly told me yours.”

“Greybeak. And now it is your turn, my love.”

“You are quick to speak of love,” Loki replied, alarmed. 

“Because it has come to me quickly. I’ve only just met you, but my wings already flap for you.”

“Well, mine don’t.” 

It had been some time since he’d been wooed while in animal form, and it always unsettled him. He wished he’d transformed into something less alluring, but total animal transformations were difficult enough. Customizing the form simply for aesthetics was something had never fully mastered, and hadn’t bothered to try. An animal’s abilities—flight, fangs, venom, balance, speed—were what he’d always been after. 

Loki took off, flying as fast as he could. Being a bit smaller, he was able to duck under branches and squeeze through tight openings that Greybeak could not. However, soon after he had successfully escaped the owl, a new creature began to fly beside him. A bat. It kept up with him effortlessly.

“Hello there,” it said.

It had been too long of a day to deal with a _third_ admirer in this strange land. Loki had never been this popular at home. For the first time, he almost missed his old status as unnoticed shadow. 

“I’m not interested,” he huffed, refusing to make eye contact. 

“What man lacks interest in power?” 

“I’m an owl, as you can see, and female at that.”

“You are no more an owl than I am a bat. The centaurs know that something has come, but they do not see the truth of it. However, there are those who would see the coming of one with your talents as a blessing, not a misfortune.”

“I am sure you have made some mistake,” Loki tried to deny. He didn’t much like having his disguise seen through. He liked even less not knowing what manner of creature this not-bat might be.

“Watch. Wait. Learn,” the bat said. “We will be doing the same as regards you. I am but the prelude to the messenger. When the time is right, you will hear from us.” 

With that vague proclamation, the bat veered right and disappeared into the night. Left alone and disconcerted, Loki returned to his bedroom without further incident. Even with the thousand questions swirling through his mind and the vast uncertainty he felt about, well, _everything_ , the day’s physical exertions and constant reversals had exhausted him enough that he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

The hour at which Loki woke could only be called morning by the most technical of definitions. Seabirds of a damnably choral bent flew past his window, as though in a rush to announce the arrival of the sun, which peeked out over the ocean horizon and shone right into his eye. He pulled the pillow over his face to block it out and slept for another few hours. So much for the queen’s ‘beautiful’ sunrise. 

Lacking anything else to wear when he finally crawled out of bed, Loki pulled on his dirt-caked clothes from the day—nay, days—before and emerged from his room. His personal guard appeared to have been relaxed since the night, but there were enough wolves loitering about the palace to ensure that someone always had an eye on him.

He made his way to the throne room, but remained hovering just outside the doorway. The picture projected by the stained glass wall had changed since the previous evening. Loki saw now that it was a moving tableau, a story that progressed along the wall as the sun moved in the sky. Now, in the light of late morning, it now portrayed the menagerie emerging as pairs from humps in the grass. The lion—the same one as in all the other decorations in this place—stood at the center with its enormous maw hanging open. 

Loki felt sure that it was singing the song that he was only slowly beginning to be able to tune out.

He dragged his eyes away from the unsettling picture and towards the more pleasing sight of the king holding court. He fit in his throne—the same one as yesterday—as though the seat and attendant responsibilities were as comfortable as a glove. So different from Loki’s constant awkwardness of a few days ago, during his brief reign. Loki remembered feeling nothing but terror at having to deal with the emissaries from Alfheim, and mortification when Frigga had had to step in to assist him. But here was King Edmund, asking tough questions and effortlessly deconstructing a foreign diplomat’s petition for more lenient harbour rights. As he listened, Loki now saw how generously the king had treated him the night before. This young king had a capacity for efficient ruthlessness to rival Loki’s.

“Did you sleep well?” a voice from behind suddenly whispered in his ear.

Loki turned around to find the queen directly behind him, coming down from tiptoes, and beaming.

“I slept very well, thank you, your majesty.”

“Enough of all that. You must call me Lucy, of course. I’ve been waiting impatiently for you all morning. I thought you’d _never_ come out of your room. But I knew you’d had a long day, and a terrible time of it, so I let you sleep.”

She was so agonizingly _nice_. Loki wanted so badly to hate her.

“Loki!” The king must have finished with the diplomats, because they were bowing and retreating. He descended from his throne with a half-repressed little smile that Loki didn’t know what he’d done to deserve, because, unlike his generous-hearted wife, King Edmund did not seem the type to bestow his smiles to everyone.

“Your majesty,” Loki said with a bow. 

“Please, no. Call me Edmund. Was your room all right? I have no idea how it compares with your palace at home, but…” The king was different from what Loki had observed the day before, nay, mere minutes before. He had suddenly become almost shy. 

Well, Loki thought, growing up in a country like this, with its paucity of men and women, _would_ leave someone a bit unaccustomed to normal social interaction. Now that he was thinking of it, the same thing explained the queen’s slightly _too_ friendly demeanor. More boorish minds might have called her wanton, but he could tell it was because she was actually _that_ excited to see another person. She’d even said as much in the garden.

“The room was very comfortable,” Loki replied. “But I must say, I am anxious to hear… Have you come to a decision about me?”

Getting back to business visibly relaxed and reassured the king, who answered with his usual confidence, “Queen Lucy has convinced me to leave the choice to you. Would you prefer to remain here at Cair Paravel as our royal guest, or would you like assistance to make your adventures outside of Narnia? Coming from such an old and powerful realm as Asgard sounds like, I believe there is much we can learn from you. However, we’ll understand if you want to—”

“I would consider it an honor to remain here as your guest.” Loki hadn’t found the queen’s arguments the night before particularly convincing, but perhaps the king really was _that_ enamored of his odd little bride. Either way, he was hardly about to complain.

The queen clapped her hands in delight, and the king, too, seemed pleased, for he allowed the shy grin that had previously been threatening to break finally stretch over his face. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

He reached out a hand. Loki stepped closer in order to shake it, coming close to the king for the first time. He almost reeled, even more so when their hands actually touched.

“Are you all right?” King Edmund gripped Loki even tighter and held him steady. The grip felt almost like a caress, which only worsened matters.

“I’m quite all right. Merely a chill,” he choked. Loki shook himself free and took a step back, ignoring how the king’s previously delighted smile drooped into a hurt frown. Loki knew he needed to ingratiate himself with his hosts, knew his actions could be read as a continuation of the previous day’s rudeness, but he was too overcome right now to care. 

In stark contrast to Lucy, Edmund radiated a powerfully strong and deep—deeper than deep—magic. A pulse of sorts came off him. The same pulse that had radiated from the edges of the table where it had split. 

Loki had been too distracted by the runes the night before to identify what it felt like, but this morning he knew: it felt uncomfortably like absolution.

No wonder he had unconsciously sought the man’s approval even beyond the practical need to curry favor. No wonder he had felt so immediately drawn to him. It wasn’t about his handsome face and lean strength (though those hardly hurt). No, more than that, Loki had always yearned to feel that which radiated off this young king, and must have sensed it before fully feeling it. However, Loki's path had taken him too far for that now; it had to have. He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to run far away from the reminder of that which he would never attain, or if he wanted to rub himself all over Edmund, to bask in what he would never achieve for himself. 

He settled for standing straight again and accepting the queen’s invitation to take lunch with her in the garden. The king watched quietly, thoughtfully, unreadably, as Loki took a step back and kept his distance for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki stared in dismay at the new clothes Longear had laid out on his bed. The green breeches were of an alarmingly thin material, and the tunic was not quite long enough to compensate. Narnian summer garb for men, as exhibited first by Edmund’s wardrobe and now these garments, left almost nothing to the imagination. 

“Do you like them?” Longear asked with his usual unquenchable eagerness.

“The cape is nicely embroidered,” Loki conceded.

“The tailors have been working nonstop since you arrived, my lord,” the hare said with a solicitous twitch of his whiskers. “They even incorporated the colours you requested.”

Loki fingered the breeches. “There was no leather?” 

“That takes longer. Your trousers should be ready tomorrow. But don’t you think you’ll be uncomfortably warm in them?”

“It’s what I’m accustomed to.” 

“The land you hail from must have been uncommonly cold, my lord.”

“It is regularly about this temperature, so, no.”

Longear, as often happened when Loki grew peevish, struggled to respond. The minds of rabbits were not built to interpret sarcasm. Therefore, he jumped to a new topic. “I was told to inform you… Her majesty has requested your presence this morning on the northeast tower. The Galman delegation is leaving. There is to be a farewell ceremony.”

“At what time should I go down?” No matter how friendly the queen’s demeanor, Loki had never heard a royal request that wasn’t actually a command. He knew better than to refuse the first summons that either of their majesties had given him.

Longear looked at the sundial beside the window, and then self-consciously flopped his ears back at Loki. “Well, the breakfast hour has passed, as it usually has by the time you rise, my lord. They have already begun to gather in the…”

“So, twenty minutes ago, you mean. Leave me. I’ll be there in a moment.” It took all of Loki’s self-discipline not to thrash the creature for daring to chide him, however politely, for having overslept, not just this morning but every morning since his arrival. 

Longear hopped out and Loki put the scandalous breeches away in the wardrobe, choosing instead to pull on the same leather trousers he’d been wearing for the past few days. They’d been sourced from the king’s own winter wardrobe, Longear had said when he’d brought them. It was odd, though, because they were bigger than anything Loki had seen Edmund wearing, as though made for a larger person entirely. Perhaps the styles had recently changed.

The servants directed him to a wing of the palace that he had not yet explored. But that hardly counted, for Loki hadn’t yet explored much of anything. He had initially made grand plans to sneak about, to make unobserved studies of their majesties, of their followers, of the history and workings of this place, all with an aim to improve his already plum situation. However, the whirlwind of developments, revelations, reversals and emotional upheaval that he’d endured in the weeks before arriving here had taken more of a toll on him than even his tireless drive could bear. 

Almost as soon as he’d obtained his official welcome here, in this irritating but comfortable castle, waited on by annoying but well-meaning creatures, Loki’s body had revolted against his mind and taken the rest that was offered it. He’d spent most of his days so far sleeping, and most of his nights tossing about in nightmares. In between, he hid in the quiet of his room and read books that someone—one of their majesties, he guessed, because Longear couldn’t possibly possess such interesting taste—kept adding to his meal trays. Even if he had been up to it, he dared not repeat his flight of the first night. He’d found out that the queen kept owls as air patrol and spies; it was a miracle he hadn’t been caught.

Even if he’d been more energetic and social, he likely would still have seen little of their majesties, who seemed very busy. Lacking the bevy of experts and sycophants that Odin relied upon, these two practiced a more hands-on style of ruling than in Asgard. A series of mini crises had kept Queen Lucy on the move, rushing from council meetings to domestic policy meetings in the southern part of Narnia and back again. Here in Cair Paravel, the Galman ambassadors had kept Edmund busy hosting events to which Loki had been subtly but clearly not invited. 

Loki didn’t hold it against the king; in his place, he wouldn’t have wanted a suspicious new stranger around during difficult negotiations either. Especially if that stranger were him.

As he rounded the last turn and stepped onto the northeast tower, he wondered if and how things would change with the Galmans now departing. He also hoped the queen wouldn’t take offense to seeing him wearing clothes other than the ones she’d ordered for him. 

“Loki!” Lucy said as soon as she saw him. She’d been peering over the edge of the balcony and ceremoniously waving a handkerchief down at Edmund and the Galmans below. But as soon as she saw Loki, she stopped and ran over to him. “You made it. I _am_ glad.”

She sounded genuinely pleased to see him, as though he’d actually had a choice about whether or not to appear. And he should have realized that she cared nothing about clothes.

“I didn’t realize you had returned from your meetings. When did you get back?” he asked.

“Late last night, after supper. They told me you’d gone to bed. Again. I hope you’ve caught up on your rest by now.”

“Just about, your majesty. I apologize if I have appeared at all rude. I don’t usually require this much rest. I suppose traveling here took a toll I didn’t expect.”

“I don’t mind. You seemed like you needed it. Did you like the books I left for you?” And then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, “They’re the most wonderful stories, I think. From Calormen. Magic and wishes and all sorts of adventures. I thought they might cheer you up. You did look so worn down and haunted and when I left. But you’re better now, I think. You look less pale and pinched and miserable.”

So it _had_ been her, Loki thought. “They were very diverting. Thank you.” 

“Can I hide in you?” she asked, and nestled in his chest cavity before he could make a polite excuse. “I have the funniest story to tell you.”

Loki used the length and breadth of his body to shield her from the hot but strong wind that had been whipping her hair and dress like coils around her. When he didn’t put his arms around her, she did it for him, dragging him into an embrace. She stretched up to whisper into his ear, so close that she accidentally licked him once or twice. Not that that stopped the flow of her speech; either she didn’t notice, or else she thought nothing of licking strange men. 

She was relating an anecdote that had happened after dinner the previous night (yet another dinner to which Loki had been carefully not invited). The Galman ambassador had apparently failed to notice that his elaborate moustaches had fallen into his tea, and had drenched everyone nearby when he’d dramatically flicked his head in a moment of conversational brio. It was only a mildly funny tale, but Lucy had a talent for facial and vocal mimicry that reduced Loki to shaking with laughter even as both of them tried to maintain a dignified aspect for this court function. 

He’d been lonely since coming here, and long before that, but, just like that, he no longer felt so. Before he quite knew what he was doing, and almost completely despite himself, he drew her even closer to him, wrapped his arms more tightly around her, giving himself more comfort than he gave her.

From where he stood in the lower courtyard, Edmund looked up at them. He was too far away for Loki to read his expression, but his slumped shoulders spoke loudly enough. With a less energetic than before movement, he turned back to the councilors. 

Only now did Loki realize what they were doing, what this looked like. He took a step away.

“I haven’t finished my story yet!” Lucy complained. 

“I fear...” Loki decided the most diplomatic way of putting it was to not put it at all. “Perhaps you can tell me the rest later. I _am_ enjoying it, I assure you.”

She squinted at him in confusion for a moment, and then understanding dawned. She sputtered and stamped her foot. “What do you… I mean, what of it? It isn’t as though you’re paying court to me.” She paled and took a step back. “You aren’t, are you? Please tell me you aren’t. I can’t think of anything that would be more ghastly. If you have been, you must stop, immediately.”

“I haven’t. I…” Loki hadn’t been, but felt rather assaulted by such a response. He had no interest in Lucy—not like that—and he was hardly stupid enough to do something that would so obviously anger the king. However, horror seemed a rather extreme reaction to the idea that he might be sweet on her. While he’d never enjoyed the universal admiration that Thor had always taken for granted, Loki hardly considered himself—or at least the form he had always unconsciously assumed—so repulsive. Wounded, he grumbled, “I’m sorry to have caused offense.”

“You haven’t. It’s just that...” She glanced wistfully at her husband before turning back to Loki with persuasive determination. “I know I’ve been running around like a mad thing since you got here. Edmund and I both have. You have no idea how vexed I’ve been about it. However, duty comes first, even though all I want to do is curl up and chat with you. What I mean to say is that we’re meant to be _chums_ , you and me. The very best of chums. I knew it straightaway when I first saw you, even if you didn’t feel the same. I mean to win you over, as soon as I have a moment.”

“It sounds as though you want a challenge,” Loki teased, even as he felt himself warming, despite himself.

“Not particularly.” And then, apropos of nothing, she looked down and said, “Edmund looks well today, doesn’t he?”

“As well as he ever does,” Loki replied, keeping his tone as bland and bored as possible, almost on the edge of rude. Lucy’s openness had a heady, dangerous effect on him, more beguiling than the most subtle spy. He felt in constant danger of revealing too much, and therefore kept overcompensating in awkward ways.

Lucy made a moue of discontent at this answer, as though disappointed. “Ah well. Never mind,” she mumbled to herself. And then, just as abruptly as everything else she did, she ran off, down the stairs and to the courtyard, where she reemerged beside Edmund and the ambassadors. 

Watching them, Loki wondered what he’d done to upset her, if indeed he had at all. Perhaps he ought to have complimented Edmund’s good looks with the honesty he felt? Edmund and Lucy were so enamored of one another; perhaps she had been looking for someone who might listen to her gush about him. 

However, with the looks and coy touches she was currently giving the one of the minor diplomats…

Loki shook his head. This place remained as confusing as it had been on his first day.

* * *

Later, after the Galmans had finished their overlong farewells and finally— _finally_ —boarded their damn boat, Loki sat on the rocky shore and watched the mermaids’ heads peeping in and out of the water as it sailed into the blinding glare of the Eastern Sea. He felt rather than heard Edmund walk over to join him, felt it in his roiling stomach and dizzy head. He rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder in welcome and drew it back when he felt Loki flinch.

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t be. You startled me, that’s all.” But Loki had a feeling Edmund could hear the lie, the discomfort in his voice as he tried not to retch.

The potent magic that hung around Edmund still physically overwhelmed Loki and left him wracked with self-loathing. He couldn’t help his reactions, but they thankfully seemed to be lessening, very slowly, as he grew accustomed to it. Similarly, the song and other smells associated with Narnia’s magic were also becoming less and less noticeable. One day soon, Loki hoped, he might even be able to shake Edmund’s hand without feeling ill. 

Edmund sat down, a safe and manageable distance away (well, safe only once Loki had shifted an extra half-foot down the rock), and fidgeted with a pile of seaweed near his foot. Loki could tell that he was working himself up to something. 

The air of the eternal child prodigy hung about Edmund; he managed his mantle of responsibility with ease, but was possibly little used to more normal interactions with people—real people. This was the only explanation Loki could come up with for why Edmund was like this around him, despite projecting easy confidence with everyone else.

“I say,” Edmund said, finally getting to the point. “I’m to attend a summit about the logging trade this afternoon. Would you like to accompany me?”

It was just about the last thing to which Loki had expected to be invited. “Is this a topic you think I have some expertise in?” 

“No, I…” Edmund scratched his head. “Wait, do you? Have expertise in this, I mean.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh. All right. It would have been a strange coincidence if you had.”

Loki assumed this all had to do with getting him away for a new and different type of interrogation. But he could hardly say so, so he played along with Edmund’s little game and replied, “I’d be delighted.” 

“Splendid! I’ll arrange to have two horses saddled and two lunches packed. You’ll get to see a bit more of the country. I know Lucy and I have been beastly hosts so far, but that should all change, starting today. The ride will finally let us get to know each other better.”

Loki took that as a confirmation of his worst suspicions: that he was in for some sort of test. 

He’d failed the first ones, and felt desperate to pass this one. If only he knew what the questions would be.

* * *

Loki rode few feet behind Edmund—thankfully far enough away to stave off the nausea. It was a beautiful summer day, made even lovelier by the way the trees bowed their branches in reverence as their king passed. They framed the road very prettily, creating an arch that followed them past the ramshackle little town that had grown on the outskirts of the palace. After half an hour, however, they had reached a different wood, where normal trees vastly outnumbered Talking ones. The trail—for had become more of a trail than a road—took them northwest, a new direction for Loki. 

“The queen’s grace seemed loath to bid the Galmans farewell,” he said, after casting about for conversation topics to break the awkward silence. “I suppose she hankers for human company, living in a country like this.”

“You mean she’s hankering for Lord Barnistan’s company, in particular,” Edmund grumbled. “Or his cock, if we’re being frank.”

“I meant no barb against the queen’s virtue,” Loki replied, blinking in shock.

“Yes, you did. But it’s all right. You can’t insult people who know they’re all right.”

“You don’t mind her indiscretions?”

“She knows the rules we agreed to. Within those limits, she can do as she pleases. I only wish she had better taste.”

Loki had no idea what reply to make to that. Edmund took broad-mindedness to unheard of heights. He had no idea what these rules might be, but didn’t think it would be tactful to ask. However, no matter the approved arrangement, Loki couldn’t understand how someone married to someone as appealing as Edmund could possibly want… 

No, he told himself, and shook the unbidden thoughts away. It didn’t matter what Lucy did or didn’t do; Edmund was not someone to be thought of like that. He was Loki’s jailor, host, object of magical interest. Nothing more. 

And yet, Loki couldn’t help but ask, “And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Do you also do as you please?" 

Edmund had been looking at the path, as it was a difficult one to follow, but at this, he turned sharply to peer at Loki. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Vulgar curiosity, I suppose. Your private arrangements are none of my business. Apologies if I have overstepped."

It appeared that he had, because Edmund changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you like Narnia so far. I know I haven’t had much of a chance to show—”

“I’ve had a very restorative few days,” Loki said, hoping to strike a balance between the truth and causing offense. The trial had left Loki wary of telling Edmund any outright lies, but the truth was that place exasperated him. Narnia was full of blabbermouths who failed to give him intelligible answers to his subtle queries. The stench of wet fur sometimes overpowered even the sickly sweet smell of magic. The sunrises still blinded him first thing in the morning. But so far, everyone had been kind to him—too kind, leaving him waiting for a disappointing revelation.

“Well, hopefully we can make it more interesting for you going forward, now that the Galmans have gone and Lucy has settled the tiff between the wild horses and the dryads. It's been hard on us for the past couple of weeks, but I’m sure we’ll get into a rhythm. Ruling is work for four people,” Edmund said, causing Loki to wonder what had led him to that exact calculation. “Narnia isn’t a big country, but it’s got complications that big ones don’t. _You_ try getting the dwarves to get along with the Marshwiggles, and the kangaroos not to bother the bears. Thank goodness for Lucy. She jollies them into talking to one another. My part is to build on that and get them to talk _sense_.”

“I know a little of this work," Loki offered. "My father… I mean, the All-Father, spent most of the years before my birth building coalitions between the realms, moving some of the responsibility from his shoulders and onto their own. In that way, the crown became more of a safety net than an active manager.”

This interested Edmund, who probed more deeply. He asked question after intelligent question, earnestly engrossed in Loki’s explanations of how governing was done in Asgard. 

“Your father’s techniques sound like ones my brother would be very interested in. I’ll talk it over with Peter when he and Susan return.”

Loki had heard the names Susan and Peter mentioned many times during his subtle inquiries into the workings of this land. This magnificent ‘High King’ was someone from history, he’d assumed. A ruler from before the White Witch’s long reign, and a glorious legend to which Edmund aspired. However… “Your brother?”

“Yes, of course. Peter. My brother.” When he saw Loki’s blank expression, Edmund continued, “Oh dear, we really _have_ neglected you this week, if you haven’t heard of High King Peter.”

“I’ve heard of him, but I did not think he was still living.” 

“He’s perfectly well. He and Susan left a few days before you arrived, just after welcoming the Galmans. There was a spot of bother a couple of months before you came, you see. More than just a spot, really. It was quite serious. You’ve heard about the recent war, I hope, at the very least?” 

“The war with Calormen? The invasion from across the desert? Yes, a bit. Something about you and the queen leading the combined armies of Narnia and Archenland to a triumph. I couldn't make much sense of it, to be honest. There was a bit about donkeys that made no sense. The dryad girl who told me was not the most direct conversationalist.”

Edmund laughed. “Honestly, it made no sense, and I was _there_.” More seriously, he added, “You could have asked me. I would have happily explained.”

“You were busy.”

“Not too busy to talk to you. But instead…” Something broke, a bit of the kingly mask chipped and Edmund suddenly seemed just like a slightly put out young man who wanted to get something off his chest. “I don’t understand you. You said you wanted to stay here, with us. And yet you keep your distance from me, and even from Lucy. You won’t even come down to eat with us.”

“I haven’t been invited.”

Edmund looked at Loki as though he’d grown another head. “I invited you to live in our castle. That meant to make yourself at home, to be as part of our family. Your welcome at meals and any other activity we’re doing was implicit. I don’t know how things are done in Asgard, but here, we don’t stand on that much ceremony in Narnia.”

“Oh.” Loki thought back on the previous few days. He supposed he _had_ been given free rein, but had failed to see it.

“I can’t tell if you are always like this,” Edmund continued, “or if it is because you are new here.”

“Always like what?” Loki asked, bristling.

"You are clever. I saw that straightaway. Almost too clever. And subtle. Certainly too subtle. You don't like to ask direct questions, and you needlessly complicate simple answers even when you receive them. Which is why it seems you’ve failed to understand that you are always invited to meals and failed to understand what was told you so plainly about my brother. Despite your perfect politeness, it is clear that you do not feel comfortable here, which is a pity, for I meant for you to like it here. Nonetheless, you bear it, and us. It is this observation that convinced me beyond all doubt that you were telling the truth when you said you came here accidentally, and that have nowhere else to go. You wouldn’t have come otherwise, and you’d have left by now if you had a choice." Edmund sounded terribly wounded by his own, mostly accurate, hypotheses.

"I see," Loki replied coolly, hating to have been read so easily. "I did not intend to cause any offense. You seem to have quite the measure of me, despite having hardly spoken to me at all. And what did you hope to learn today, during this ride?"

Edmund slowed his horse so that they could ride side by side and look into Loki's eyes without turning backwards (too bad that Loki began to sway with dizziness at their proximity). "I wanted to learn whatever you wanted to share. I meant what I said the other day. That you likely had much to teach me, knowledge from your world. I wanted to get to know you, just you, no manipulations, no tests. Today is the first time I've had a chance. I've been looking forward to it."

“So, there is to be no further interrogation? Today’s excursion was not a test?”

“No, of course not. You seem like a man who likes to keep his own council. I do as well, and therefore must respect it in others. Also, Lucy urged me not to trouble you. She says you have wounds that are best left under bandages, at least for a little while longer. She says that’s why you sleep so much, but that you’ll open up and tell us about yourself in your own time. She’s usually right about this sort of thing, so I let you have your space. But today, I confess, I grew rather impatient. Perhaps I should have waited a few more days.”

Edmund was tighter wound, graver, and more solemn than Lucy. However, they shared a tick of clenching their hands into fists when they were at their most flustered or eager to please. Loki noticed the motion and felt reassured of Edmund's truthfulness, and just as warmed as he had been by Lucy’s similarly earnest speech in the morning. 

“Her grace is very wise,” he said. Hoping Edmund would understand his desire to reset their previous interactions, he opened a new conversation, with genuine good will. "So, tell me more about this war, and about your brother."

“No, you _must_ know about the donkey, first and foremost.” Edmund proceeded to relate the story of Rabadash’s transformation with gusto. While he lacked Lucy’s comedic flair, he boasted a dry delivery that left Loki practically hiccupping guffaws at every plot twist.

(And, most surprising of all, Loki decided that this Aslan he kept hearing about possessed more of a sense of humour than he would have expected from such a terrifying-sounding, all-powerful being.)

"Well, the whole business with Calormen left Susan quite shaken,” Edmund explained next. “Not exactly fractured, but a near thing. Peter thought it would do her good to get away for awhile. She loves the sea, and no one has exerted Narnia’s sovereignty over the Lone Islands in well over a hundred years. So, Peter proposed a long trip to reestablish ourselves there. They left a few days before you arrived, and most likely won’t be back for months.”

“So, you rely on your younger brother to help you govern?” Loki asked, trying to work it out.

“It’s more that we help each other. Lucy and Susan, too. All four of us together. And Peter is my elder brother, not my younger.”

“Your elder brother is still alive, and yet you are king?” At first Loki wondered if perhaps Edmund had been deemed worthier, or if Peter had suffered some scandal that had forced him out of power; however, everything he’d heard about the not-so-historical Peter suggested kingliness too perfect to dethrone.

“Well, we’re kings and queens together, you know. Why else do you think there are four thrones in the throne room? You really _haven’t_ left your room much, have you?”

Loki explained the hypothesis he’d come up with on his first day, that Edmund and Lucy kept two sets of thrones as a show of power, to impress. Edmund laughed so hard that he almost spooked his horse. 

“What absolute pricks you must think us.”

“I thought it was quite clever, actually. A testament to your natural brilliance for policy. Though, now that I know you a little better, perhaps it does not _quite_ fit your personalities.”

Edmund snorted. “That might be the most underwhelming compliment that has ever been paid us. I’ll be sure to let Lucy know what you think of her. That she isn’t _quite_ the most insufferable snob who ever lived.”

“But how does this work, succession-wise?” Loki asked, still interested in the larger question.

“It’s a topic we’ve discussed often, but we still haven't settled on an answer, to all the councilors' anxiety. It’s rather complicated, you see…”

But Loki interrupted him, still thinking it through on his own. “So, will your children rule together as well, or is it a race to see which brother will get his wife with child first, whether your Lucy or his Susan will…”

 _“What?!”_ Edmund sputtered. “You mean to say… You’ve thought all this time… How could you possibly…” He had turned very red. “Loki. Lucy is my sister, not my wife. As is Susan. No one is getting anyone with child!” 

Loki boggled. “What, four of you? Siblings? All equals, and… and not at all…?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t be disgusting. Have I ever treated Lucy as anything else?”

Loki replayed all the interactions he’d witnessed in the past few days in his mind, through this new lens. All the tender intimacies that had not actually included any acts of sexual passion. All the closely whispered conversations and nudging touches and embraces of the sort that he might have—and once _had_ —shared with Thor. 

He felt like an idiot. But more than that, he felt irrationally relieved—a feeling he tried to stamp down. 

“I know it’s an uncommon situation,” Edmund was saying when Loki finally began again to attend. “Narnia is very strange in this way. I’ve never heard of another country with such a system.”

“But I have. Hence my confusion. While people in many realms think as you do, you’ll find others where the concept is far from disgusting, almost normal. I have met siblings who ruled together, but they were always married. And there were only ever two of them."

“And did they… I mean, did they have…?” Edmund could hardly get the words out, and had turned an awful magenta colour.

“They consummated it, yes. In the normal fashion. And procreated, biology allowing.”

A slack-jawed horror marred Edmund's usual pleasing arrangement of features. "What realm is this? Not yours, I hope?"

"I first encountered this tradition in some backwater parts of Alfheim. However, the ruling family of Vanaheim, which is second only to Asgard in power, has sometimes had married siblings on the throne. We don't have this practice in Asgard, but it's common enough that ignorants have asked my parents if the plan was to marry me off to my brother." 

Only now did Loki remember how Odin's answers had failed to fully dismiss the idea. Asgard did not condone marriages between blood relatives, but Loki and Thor were _not_ blood relatives. Could Odin have meant for something like this? Something like what they had in Narnia?

He shivered in horror, the same horror that his assumptions had led Edmund to feel. Loki’s visceral reaction clarified how he truly felt about Thor better than any of the tortured musings or rationalizations that had kept him up at night. Thor was his brother, no matter what the truth had ended up being.

“Are you all right?” Edmund asked.

“Quite well, your majesty,” Loki choked out.

“Lying again, are we?”

“I…”

“I will not pry. But I _am_ interested to learn that you have a brother.”

Edmund hadn't exaggerated when he'd said Loki had made himself hard to know. Wanting to feel out his situation as thoroughly as possible before giving too much about himself away, Loki had evaded as many questions about his past as possible. But the eager interest stamped on Edmund’s face was almost irresistible. He decided Edmund was just as clever an interrogator as his sister, because he found himself succumbing to his questions.

“Yes, an elder brother, like you. But no sisters. Your brother sounds much like mine. The golden warrior, the glorious son. Thor goes by the obnoxious title of the ‘Thunderer’. However, this Peter of yours seems to have done him one better, a feat I hadn’t thought possible. ‘The Magnificent’? Really? With a moniker like that, you can’t blame me for thinking him long dead.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it? He doesn't even get what a prat it makes him sound. Susan's always chastising me and Lucy for sniggering into our dinner napkins."

Edmund and Loki spent the rest of the ride exchanging anecdotes about growing up with their annoyingly perfect older brothers. This Peter really did sound every bit as insufferably worthy as Thor. Edmund howled with laughter at some of the pranks Loki relayed having played on him. 

“Lucy and I must try one of those on Peter when he gets back,” Edmund said. “Will you promise to help us?”

“I'd like nothing better."

Edmund must have been able to tell that Loki meant it, because he sounded pleased when he said, “Which means you’ll still be here, months from now.” 

“Where else would I be? You know I have nowhere else to go. You said so yourself.”

“Your people might come for you and take you home. If they’re as powerful as you say, I’m sure they’ll find a way.”

“I doubt they care. We did not part on good terms, to put it mildly.”

“I’m sure they still want you, are worried sick about you, and are doing everything to find you. No matter what you did.”

“It’s more complicated than that. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Loki had no answer to that, and was still sorting out his reactions to the recent revelations regarding Narnia and his feelings about Thor. And so, they rode in silence for over an hour. But it was a pleasant, companionable silence, the kind Loki had rarely shared with anyone.

The path eventually stopped near a creek. They tied the horses to a tree near a spot along the Beruna River where a great number of estuaries met. 

“It’s a few minutes walk from here,” Edmund said. “Would you carry the lunch box? I have my hands full with the paperwork.”

“Why didn’t you order a servant to ride with us? They could have carried it all. You _are_ the king.”

Edmund shrugged, practically dropping the papers in the process. “I wanted a quiet ride with you more than I wanted the help. To tell you the truth, Lucy and I have never really liked having servants. We much prefer to do things on our own. But Susan is right when she says it’s important to at least try to act like normal royalty. Especially when we were younger, we had to do everything we could to be taken seriously. Ah, here we are.”

The logging federation turned out to be a gathering of beavers. Of course it did. Loki should have expected nothing less. Over fifty of them stretched out in a half moon near the water’s edge, all gnawing on bits of bark or carcasses of fish. When they saw their king step out of the wood and enter the gathering, they put their snacks aside and waddled over to greet him. Loki stifled a laugh to see Edmund, twice as tall as any of them, crouch down and, very seriously, shake each of their paws. 

An elderly female beaver approached Edmund and kissed him wetly on both cheeks. “And who is this, your majesty?” 

“A guest, recently welcomed into the palace, Mrs Beaver. He is a stranger to Narnia, to this whole world, just as we were. Loki, come meet my very oldest friends in Narnia. My siblings and I owe them our lives, our thrones, everything.”

“Oh, please. You exaggerate. But you… Come here, young man. Let me have a look at you,” the beaver said sternly, beckoning Loki over and inspecting him. “Tsk tsk, what kind of negligence is going on in the kitchens at Cair Paravel? Don’t they feed you? This one’s entirely too skinny. As are you, your majesty.”

“I assure you, I am very well fed,” Loki said stiffly, while Edmund laughed.

“You always say this, and it’s because you haven’t seen enough of a variety of humans. Not everyone is a mountain like my brother, Mrs Beaver. We come in all sizes. Loki and I are both perfectly healthy.”

This couple of beavers must have been very special indeed, because they were the only ones to whom Edmund introduced Loki. The others eyed Loki with distrust and curiosity, but said nothing, having overheard the king say he was an honoured guest. 

Edmund soon called the meeting to a start, and Norns, it was dull. Complaints about water flows and pressure, rulings about the length of logs that should be allowed down the river, arguments about ownership rights over driftwood. It was almost enough to make Loki didn’t know how Edmund could bear it, how he could sit there so patient and attentive.

By the time the beavers began bickering about the ideal height for a dam, Loki had had enough. Edmund must have seen him fidgeting, because he gave Loki an understanding little nod, permission to excuse himself. Loki slunk away to stretch his legs for a bit and enjoy a moment of quiet. 

The nearby forest proved to be one of the prettiest he’d ever strolled through. While nothing in this world was as old as anything in Asgard, this one had been left completely untouched, which gave it a certain charm. 

As he walked, he mused on the situation Edmund had just told him about. He imagined what it might have been like to rule together with Thor, to be kings together, as Edmund was with Peter. Beside, not behind. Equals, complementing one another’s strengths, without competition. That was all Loki had ever wanted, and the thwarting of that desire had led him down a terrible path. If only Odin had ever considered or posed such an option, so much could have been averted.

“Psst,” he heard from somewhere nearby.

Loki looked around him, but didn’t see anyone.

“Psst,” he heard again, and this time he knew it was coming from the left. He pushed aside a thick overgrowth of flowers to discover a space between two rocks. Squeezing through, he entered a small space that was mostly closed in by the rock, but not actually a cave, since it was still above ground. Inside stood a swarthy dwarf with a big black beard and a black wool cloak. 

“There you are,” it said. “The usurpers have kept you close in the palace, haven’t you? Cunning bastards, they are. The trouble to get a message to you, you wouldn’t believe.”

Loki remembered the mysterious bat, from whom he had happily heard nothing since that first night. He’d had no interest in continuing the association, and had, with wishful thinking, written the experience off as a one-off nothing. “Are you the messenger I was told to wait for?” 

“Aye.”

Loki felt a little let down. Given the bat’s perspicacity, and given the magic that seeped out of Narnia’s every pore, he would have expected a more impressive messenger.

“Look,” the dwarf said. “We don’t have much time. Can you get out tonight?”

“I can try,” Loki said, noncommittally.

“Do more than try. We meet at midnight. By the Stone Table.”

“And who is this ‘we’?”

“The followers of the true queen, of course. They told me you were smart. You should be smart enough to know this.”

Loki hadn’t liked the bat. He liked this evil-looking dwarf even less. He certainly didn’t like being spoken to so rudely. However, he’d long ago decided that it was almost always better to play along and gain some knowledge than to let pride keep him from learning anything.

“I will see you at midnight,” he said, drawing himself to his full height and turning on his heel.

“Superior git,” he heard the dwarf grumble behind him. 

By the time he returned to the riverbank, the meeting was over, and most of the beavers had gone. The only ones remaining were the pair Edmund had singled out as his special friends. Mr Beaver (who really needed a more specific name, given that he was hardly the only one) had cornered Edmund by the side of the house and was in the middle of talking him to death. Edmund spotted Loki right away, but instead of beckoning him closer, he made a sign to hold off, most likely to spare him the boredom. 

Loki went to stand by the water’s edge, a sizable distance from Edmund and Mr Beaver. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out Edmund taking out his pocket watch. He held it open in his palm for longer than it took to read the time. Loki guessed he’d gotten too distracted by whatever the beaver was saying to remember to shut it again.

“Didn’t want to make a fuss in front of him, but I don’t know about this new friend of yours,” Mr Beaver was saying softly, but not too softly for Loki’s ears—far sharper than any human’s—to hear, even at this distance.

“Why do you say that?” Edmund asked.

“He has an ill-favored face.”

“More ill-favored than mine was when you first met me?” 

“Oh, sire, you know no one remembers…” 

“We both know _everyone_ remembers, friend.”

Loki recalled Edmund’s strange mention of having been marched like a convict through the forest. He remembered Greybeak the owl mentioning nefarious rumours surrounding Edmund and the Stone Table. There was some dark mystery here. Loki liked nothing better than a dark mystery, especially when it promised to smear some reassuring metaphorical mud on otherwise perfect people. If anything, the suggestion of something unsavory lurking in this noble king’s past made Edmund even more appealing.

“Do you remember what I said to you that first night?” Mr Beaver said after a moment’s awkward silence. “About things that look human but aren’t?”

“No. I… I might have missed that part. I might have, ah, left by then. You know.”

Loki almost burst with curiosity during this next uncomfortable pause. He began to skip stones along the water, hoping to project the appearance of an innocent admiring the view.

“Well, the gist was that you should keep them at arm’s length, for they’re never any good,” the beaver explained.

“How can you tell that he isn’t human?”

The beaver made a noise between a grunt and a wheeze. “Can’t you sense who’s your own kind and who isn’t? I know you haven’t got the nose we beasts have, but I always thought you humans had some other way of telling your own.”

“Well, regardless of what he is, you have always spoken with wisdom, friend. However, recently, I have decided to try my sister’s approach to strangers, which is to welcome them as I would like to be welcomed. I always appreciate your counsel, however. And I do take it to heart, even when I decide to act differently. I hope you know that.”

“Of course I do. It’s what we all do when we’ve grown up the right way. To hear you say that means you’ve grown up as respectable as I could ever have wished for,” the beaver said fondly. 

Loki heard no more, because Mrs Beaver had spotted him standing alone. She waddled over with a thick slice of ham and some heavily seasoned stuffing that she hoped might stick to his bones. She all but beat him with the serving spoon until he acquiesced and ate it all. (It tasted better than Loki had expected from a creature lacking opposable thumbs.)

Later, after they had taken their leave and begun following the afternoon shadows back to the palace, Edmund turned to Loki and said, “You aren’t human, are you?”

“I don’t understand, your majesty,” Loki replied waiting to see where this road of inquiry might lead.

“Oh, don’t ‘your majesty’ me. You were listening to me and Mr Beaver just now. I was watching you.” Edmund pulled out his pocket watch again and opened it. The inside face was a very clear mirror. “You reacted when we were talking about you. I was conscious of how far away you were standing. Human ears don’t hear that far.”

It had been a test. Another test that Loki had not sensed and therefore failed. 

“I am not. Human, I mean,” Loki said, though whether he was proud or not, he couldn’t say. His whole life, he had considered himself above all other species. Now, with the information he’d received shortly before quitting Asgard, he no longer knew where he stood in the pecking order. “I have not tried to hide it, however. I never lied. But you never asked.”

“No, you didn’t lie. I suppose I just assumed what… what I wanted to assume.”

So did I, for all my life, Loki thought to himself. “Your assumption is understandable. The people of Asgard are similar to humans in appearance, though on average a little larger. And they are hardier, stronger, exponentially longer lived.”

At this, Edmund pulled his horse to a halt and asked in a carefully neutral tone, “And how old are you?”

“About a thousand years of your reckoning.”

“Oh. I see. That’s… that’s quite… Yes, you must be a very different sort of being than me.” Edmund sounded unhappy to hear this, and Loki assumed the reason was anger at himself for having failed to see the truth before the beaver pointed it out. “Is there anything else that I ought to know about you? Any other differences of note?”

Thinking to impress Edmund without giving away the full breadth of his power (and also to flex muscles that were growing restless from disuse), Loki focused, drew his power, and summoned a double of himself to stand in the path. Edmund jumped in his saddle and immediately looked back to confirm that the first Loki—the real one—was behind him. He looked back and forth, with ever widening eyes. 

“You can do magic?” 

“I have some talent, yes,” Loki said as he spurred his horse into action again. As a flourish, he created a duplicate of Lucy to dance with the duplicate of himself. “Little tricks, my family used to say.” 

“But it’s wonderful! There must be a thousand useful applications.” Edmund immediately began to suggest a few practical ones.

No one had ever reacted to Loki’s magic in this way. Loki was too pleased to even mind how ill he felt at Edmund’s nearness.

Eventually, Edmund’s excitement settled again into something worried. He shook his head, and continued, using more of his kingly voice than he had all day, “So, you are long-lived and make magic. When Duffle and his friends brought you to me, it was on suspicion that you were one of the White Witch’s race. Were they right? Does she come from Asgard?”

“I couldn’t say, because I don’t know what race she was, though I do see why you ask. They said she was tall, similarly colored. However, I assure you, as I have before, that I harbor no ill-intent towards your land or your throne. And I certainly had never heard of her before.”

Edmund rode quietly for a minute. “I believe you. I probably shouldn’t, but something tells me to, or wants to.”

“Will you tell me about the Witch? I’ve heard whispers of such a person, but nothing concrete.” Loki decided to turn Edmund’s inquiry into an inquiry of his own; if he was to meet this woman’s followers tonight, he wanted to know something about her first. “I have to say, I’m rather curious about how you conquered this kingdom as a mere child. But no one has been able to tell me the story plainly.”

Edmund spent most of the ride home telling Loki as much as he knew about the history of Narnia. How Jadis had conquered the realm, about the winter, about how she had walled the land off from the rest of the world. No one knew where she’d come from, only that she’d been here since the beginning of the world. No one knew what she’d done or where she’d been in the thousand years between her appearances. Only that she had returned to Narnia with even greater power.

“But it’s all over now. With Aslan’s help, we defeated the whole lot of them. The Witch is dead, and her followers have all either been hunted down or left Narnia.”

Except, as only Loki knew, they _hadn’t_. He relished this little hint that perhaps Aslan wasn’t quite as all-powerful as he sounded, for he’d failed to defeat the Witch’s brood as utterly as everyone seemed to think.

“And what about the Stone Table?” Loki asked next. 

“What about it?”

“I have heard that it was not always split as it is. I’ve heard that it broke around the time of your great battle.”

“How do you know it is split? No one has ever taken you that way,” Edmund said, suspicious for the first time.

“I’ve heard tell about it. I was going to ask you to show me one of these days.”

“I know as little as you do,” Edmund replied, satisfied by this lie, to Loki’s surprise. “No one has ever been able to find out what happened. It must be a secret known only to Aslan, or to the Witch. The former has never told us, and the second no longer exists to ask.”

His face was clear as he said it, and so Loki believed him. At least, he believed that Edmund had no idea. He began to wonder if Edmund was even cognizant of the magic that radiated out of him. Edmund may have remained in the dark, but Loki knew there was some connection between him and the table.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” Loki said. “You aren’t the only one with an eye for this sort of thing. I am almost as good as spotting lies as you. She was more to you than the despot you overthrew, wasn’t she?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You speak of her too personally, with too much fear, too much first-hand detail.”

Edmund sighed. Unlike the previous tale about the Witch’s past, which Edmund had learned through hearsay, this new story was barely comprehensible—odd, given how fluent of a storyteller he had so far proven. Edmund seemed unable to remember his own life—unable to remember much of his childhood before Narnia. Edmund himself barely seemed to notice it, but Loki had seen enough magic to recognize a lock on someone’s memory. 

Loki was more intrigued by observation this than by the startling content of the tale, which informed him of Edmund’s—honestly, delicious-sounding—treacherous past. Loki bit his tongue, because Edmund was obviously terribly ashamed and repentant, but the absolute pettiness of Edmund’s motivations combined with the extremity of his actions left Loki simultaneously impressed and regretful that he had never met this pill of a child. Much as he felt drawn to Edmund now, they would have got on splendidly as children—been the friends that each of them had badly needed.

“I never did find out why she relinquished her claim on me,” Edmund finally finished. “And I’ve never understood why the people accepted me as their king. I know Aslan told them to, but… It’s terribly awkward. I’ve spent every moment ever since trying to deserve it.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Loki said absently, still marveling over the discovery that Edmund had flaws, and also still wondering what had happened to his memory. “Why didn’t you tell me all this the first time? Earlier, I mean, when you were telling me about the Witch.”

“I didn’t want you to…” Edmund sighed. “We all want new friends to think well of us, don’t we?”

“Well, you needn’t worry. If anything, you have become more interesting to me, instead of less,” Loki let slip.

“That’s a first,” Edmund said ruefully, but his lowered eyes and fidgeting chin imparted a different sentiment entirely.

Both Lucy and Edmund increasingly had this dangerous effect on Loki; he had never experienced it before, and it had taken him this long to realize what it was. He _liked_ them. And the use of the word ‘friend’ suggested that Edmund had begun to feel similarly about him, something other than what was expected between a king and his pampered prisoner-guest.

Talking about the witch had made Edmund grave. To recapture the budding camaraderie they’d been building, Loki reverted to telling silly anecdotes about Thor. He managed to elicit one of Edmund’s shy smiles by the time they turned onto the Talking Tree-lined road that led back to Cair Paravel.

“You have the neatest seat I have ever seen in a rider,” Loki said, and meant it, because Edmund rode so gracefully that he might as well have been a centaur. Each post made his tunic ride up higher, displaying strong sinews that Loki had to tell himself not to admire.

“That’s what comes of being trained by a horse from a young age. I can arrange some lessons for you, if you like. There’s a horse… a war horse accustomed to human riders, who has recently returned to Narnia. He did the most beautiful job of training—”

“No, thank you,” Loki said, picturing it and knowing immediately that being ‘trained’ and likely scolded by a horse would cause him to lose his temper in an ugly way, ugly enough to lose his place and welcome here. “I might be too old to relearn the basics.”

“Well, I don’t see anything amiss about your riding anyway,” Edmund said as he flicked his eyes appraisingly up and down Loki’s long legs astride the horse.

“Thank you.” It was weak and it was pathetic, but Loki couldn’t repress the thrill that Edmund’s rarely bestowed nods of approval gave him.

They spotted Lucy gossiping with the faun sentries as they approached the gate and practicing some new dance steps. 

“You won’t guess what I found out!” Edmund called to her.

“What?”

“Go on, Loki, show her.”

Loki had never liked being ordered to perform, like a (non-Talking) animal, but he didn’t mind it from Edmund, nor did he mind doing it for Lucy. With only a mild pretense of bored annoyance, he cast an illusion that switched which parts of the fauns were goat-like and human-like. Lucy clapped her hands in delight.

“How gorgeous!” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, the fun we’ll have when Peter and Susan get back.”

“That’s almost exactly what your brother said,” Loki said.

“Brother, not husband,” Edmund chided, looking at Lucy and shaking his head.

“You mean to say he thought…”

“In a nutshell.”

“In my defense…”

“Oh, bother your defense. It’s long past supper time, and I’m ravenous. Get off those horses and come right now to the dining room. Don’t bother about washing first.”

“What would Peter and Susan say?” Edmund asked in mock dismay as he dismounted and handed the horse to a groom.

“Peter and Susan aren’t here. I’m having cake and wine for supper and not washing up first and no one can stop me.” She looked pointedly at Loki.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he laughed, and let her drag him inside. 

He felt an unwanted pang of regret for the treachery he would commit that night.

* * *

Once the palace had quieted down for the night and the wolves begun their prowling watch, Loki changed into a small bat just long enough to evade the air sentries around the palace, and then changed into owl form for faster flight. He reached the clearing and landed on the Stone Table, but no one was there. 

He hooted once, as a signal. His old acquaintance, the bat, appeared from the shadows.

"Where is the gathering I was told to expect?" Loki asked.

"Your transformation will be your password. Let them see it, and they will come."

Loki didn't like letting anyone watch his transformations. The process was ugly, undignified, and painful. However, he could see no way out of it. As soon as he stood before them as a man, a great cheer went up, and people began to emerge from the wood surrounding the clearing. But such people! Loki could name only about half the creatures present. And he'd only heard about the other half in horror stories. Hags and incubuses, ogres, and bull-headed men, orcs, and other dark creatures. To the left stood something halfway between a man and one of the snarling wolves around him. He saw a number of dwarves, but these had nasty, suspicious faces, unlike the stupid but harmless Duffle. There were twisted versions of dryads—spindly creatures who looked like the spirits of poisonous weeds. Among the crowd were some more normal animals that Loki couldn't quite reconcile with the rest: polar bears and grizzly bears. 

The bat transformed into a pale man with long, pointy teeth and blood-stained eyes. He, the wolf man, and a few hags were the closest things to 'people' in the gathering.

“What do you say, Chandler?” one of the witches asked.

The wolf man came up to him and gave him a sniff. 

"It's him! It really is him. He smells of her, of her magic. I'd never forget the scent." 

Another cheer went through the crowd. The wolf man regarded Loki with a hunger that Loki hoped was hunger for a leader, and not for his flesh.

A small group, including the rude dwarf from earlier, stepped forward to join the wolf man. These must have been the leaders of the party.

Loki didn’t like any of this.

“We have been waiting for you,” one of the witches said. “The promised prince, the heir our queen never had a chance to name, her true successor. We watched you as you crossed Narnia. We smelled the truth on you, through the skin you wear. The magic that flowed through her wand flows through you, too. They think they have defeated her and us, but we are still here, hiding, waiting. Waiting for you.”

"I appreciate the welcome, but what would you have me do?” Loki asked, deciding, as usual, to play along without making any promises, to see what he could learn. These dark creatures saw him as their savior, but Loki had no desire to stand for this filthy rabble. He possessed no desire to rule over a small country such as this, and he had no quarrel with Narnia’s rulers. Quite the contrary, in fact. Not even Loki’s ingrained abhorrence for unchecked amiability had been able to withstand Lucy’s friendliness, and his day with Edmund had left him shaken and unsettled, laden with unwanted regard.

“You’ve already done well,” the wolf man continued. “Clever of you, toadying up to those humans the way you have, learning their secrets. That knowledge’ll come in handy when it’s time to strike.”

“Yes, of course, that was the intent,” Loki lied. Unlike Edmund, these people were too mired in overenthusiastic zeal to see through him.

"I'll reckon you don't know much about the queen—the true queen, I mean, not those little girls at the Cair. That’s what we called you here tonight to rectify, so you can understand what Narnia really is, and ought to be. You've probably only heard lies from the humans." The dwarf described his feelings on their majesties at length, burping bilious contempt in between spark-throwing slams of his mallet. Not a single perceived grievance went unexpectorated. 

Loki stepped back to avoid the spittle, and had to work to keep his facial muscles from twitching in rage to hear Lucy called such colorful names. 

"Your queen’s memory certainly enjoys no nostalgic reverence among the company I’ve been keeping, I'll say that,” Loki said, as soon as he could get a word in edgewise, in an effort to get the dwarf back on topic.

"Well, then, let us tell you about her,” the hag said.

The only point in the dark creatures' favor was that they told a more intelligible story than the more everyday Narnians, and an even more cogent one than the oddly amnesiac Edmund. The beginning of the tale bore strong similarity to what Edmund had told Loki earlier in the day, about the witch having arrived at the beginning of the world. However, the hag’s tale quickly diverged and filled in the blanks. She had found a soft spot between the realms—for they were plentiful in the early days of Narnia, when the world was hardly more solid than a sponge—and traveled outside the world entirely. No one knew where she went or what she’d done there. But when she’d eventually returned, she’d had in her possession the wand and the ability to create the endless winter that only treachery and the demon Aslan had destroyed.

Somewhere in there fell the missing piece Loki had been looking for—the ‘dastardly trick’ Aslan had played on the Witch by offering to die for the boy, only to come back to life. Deeper magic that no one but Aslan had known about… 

Loki had heard of such expiatory magic, but only very theoretically, and only in one, ancient, lowly regarded text. He had not expected to find it in practice, but it explained a lot of mysteries.

He wondered if Edmund knew what had been done for him. Given things he had said earlier, Loki doubted it. He wondered, if it had been him, if he would want to know. Probably not. 

"But what does any of this have to do with me?" he asked when they were done. “Why do you think I am her heir?”

"You look like her."

"Smell like her."

"Like her magic most of all." 

“Magic from another world.”

“The world she must have gone to, or come from.” 

"That fool of a false king had thought he was to be her prince. But you’re the real thing.” The dwarf spat again, and only now did Loki recognize him as the Witch’s chauffeur and advisor, the cruel dwarf that Edmund had told him about, with the terror of a small boy still in his voice as he’d related the story. 

Loki loathed him even more than before.

“When the bat told us you’d turned into an owl, we knew for certain that you were the one,” the wolf man said. “She had powers like that. Could make things look like what they were not.”

"So, you want me to take up her mantle, reconquer Narnia. And then what?"

"Restore Narnia to us. Kill the usurpers, bring back the winter."

"Yes, bring back the snow. Even these new winters are too warm!" one of the polar bears called out. 

Now Loki understood why they were here. Unlike the others, who wanted a return to darkness, the bears simply wanted their preferred climate back. 

"How do I know this is not simply a party of spies and malcontents, trying to lure me into a trap and ruin my position with their… with the humans? How can I overthrow an entire army, and the armies of the allies who will come to Narnia’s aid?”

"Archenland and Galma didn't come to Narnia’s aid last time. No one did. They couldn’t. Not when the queen had this, as you will. Here is our token, by which you will know we are not spies."

The dwarf produced a bundle of cloth, which he laid out on the table and unwrapped. Inside, Loki found five or six sharply broken shards that, if reassembled, would have created a wand almost two feet long. The shards were made of a substance Loki had only ever seen once—sparkling bits of rock nestled into the cliff sides during his recent walk in Jotunheim. 

Spindly-looking runes covered the wand, but unlike the writing on the table, Loki recognized it immediately. This was the language of Jotunheim. The same language and runes written on the Casket of Ancient Winter.

These people and creatures did not know where Jadis had gone to acquire her powers, but Loki now did. He remembered hearing a report from Odin's spies about a visitor to Laufey's court-a sorceress who appeared Aesir, but even taller—who was offering to trade Laufey magic for magic. Odin hadn’t believed the report, due to his supreme confidence in the walls he'd put up to shut Jotunheim off from the realms. But it was because of this report that Loki had first gotten the idea that perhaps the walls might be broken, that it might be possible to visit Jotunheim. Only after hearing the report had he begun to formulate his prank for Thor’s big day, a path which had led him here.

He touched the shards and could feel the broken magic that wanted to flow between them. As when he had touched the Casket, Loki could feel the stirrings of the horrible transformation coming upon him, as the magic of his unwanted birth realm called to him. Thankfully, because the wand was broken, only the tips of his fingers turned blue, not enough for anyone but him to notice in the darkness. However, he still recoiled as though burned. 

He could tell that, repaired and in the hands of a true Jotun, this wand would have been capable of almost anything. Here, finally, was the tool he had always wished for. Greater even than Mjolnir. But the last thing Loki wanted was Jotun magic, or a Jotun weapon that would show his other face to the world while he wielded it. 

For the first time, someone was offering him power that he wasn’t sure he wanted. It was quite possibly the _only_ power in the universe he could conceive of refusing.

It was all of a piece with his usual sorry luck.

However little he wanted this, he wasn’t stupid enough to offend the dangerous people offering it. He knew he had to play along just enough to keep them pleased with him. And, if repairing the wand were easy enough, he could double cross these people, bring the wand to Cair Paravel, and lay it at Edmund’s feet. Instead of becoming this foul horde’s savior, he would be Edmund’s. It was an appealing, if strategically useless, prospect that enticed Loki more than he wanted to admit. 

“I will undertake your cause,” he announced, “and restore Narnia to you. The true people.” He even managed to finish with a straight face, “My people.”

That got another cheer going. But a hushed one, as this _was_ a secret gathering, after all. 

“You’ll want to know how to repair the wand, then,” the dwarf said. “It may take some time to gather the necessary materials.”

“And what materials are these?”

“There are a few things you’ll need to get. More of the material that the wand is made of, to replace a little piece that was lost near the base. Also, water from a far-reaching well. And the seed of summer. These are the most important. There are a couple of others, but they are easily enough obtained.”

“This is all impossible. You said yourself that the wand comes from another world. How am I to get there? And the other two things make no sense. They can’t exist.” So much the better, Loki thought. The impossibility of the task would make it easier to pretend to fail, slowly enough not to anger them. 

“She wouldn’t have written down and given me these instructions if it were impossible,” the dwarf argued.

“I’ll see what I can do. It may take a little time.”

“Hopefully not too long,” the not-bat said, a little too threateningly for Loki’s comfort.

“Take this.” The wolf man handed him a whistle.

“What is this?”

“It will summon us if you ever have need of us. Or if you ever want to send a message.”

“How is a whistle at all discreet?”

“Only my ears can hear the sound it makes.”

The meeting adjourned shortly afterwards, and the crowd began to disperse, with individuals coming up to pay their confusing and off-putting respects to Loki before disappearing back into the shadows. He had to extricate himself from the too-close conversation of a couple of extremely amorous hags who tried very clumsy love spells while shaking his hand. And he got an inkling that there might be a third possible reason for the hunger the wolf man directed at him. 

He couldn’t wait to put this entire crowd behind him.

Once he was alone, Loki resumed his owl form and took flight. On the way home, he heard an unwelcome, “Too-whooo!”

Loki groaned. 

“I’ve been flying every night, hoping to see you again,” Greybeak said. “Where have you been, my darling?”

“Oh. Here and there.” 

“Where is your nest? I’ve searched the whole forest for it, staying up even past the dawn—awful—to see if I can find you. I’ve asked all the other owls about you—hoooo, but they told me they’d never seen you.”

“I’m very private. Antisocial. I don’t like to roost with the others.” 

“You play your part well, my beauty, but I know the truth.”

“What?” Loki felt momentary panic at the possibility of having been discovered, but Greybeak exuded only excitement. 

“You’re one of the royal spies. Everyone knows Queen Susan has owls in her employ, and sends them on dangerous missions of state. That’s why I can never find you. I must say, you are not only beautiful, but also the most fascinatingly mysterious bird imaginable.”

“Shhh, not so loud. Do you want to give me away to the whole world?” Loki always appreciated being handed a cover story. “Please, let me alone. It would be a disaster if anyone saw me headed in the direction I am going. It’s all top secret, urgent business for the queen.” With that, he pulled ahead, flying fast.

“Good luck on your mission!” Greybeak called after him. “We will meet again soon!”

Loki hoped not. 

By the time Loki got to bed, it was nearing dawn, and fitful dreams plagued what little sleep he got. He missed yet another breakfast the next morning, partly because he’d overslept (again) and partly because he was still strategizing what to do.

The idea of telling Lucy and Edmund about his midnight meeting did cross his mind, as a way of proving even more solidly his devotion and usefulness. But he quickly dismissed it. Telling them would have destroyed all the good will he’d generated. Upon arriving in Narnia, he’d denied a connection to the witch so vociferously; how could he now tell them her followers saw him as her successor?

And anyway, he wanted to keep the dark creatures’ offer in his back pocket, in case of an emergency. 

He had only just made up his mind about all this when Lucy, who apparently couldn’t wait any more, burst into his room, practically sat on his head, and demanded that he create illusions while helping her find her crown, which she’d misplaced again.

(Five hours later, they found it behind the stables, beside what looked like a button from Lord Barnistan’s coat. Loki picked it up and looked questioningly at Lucy. She shrugged, and dragged him off to the Western tower to play chess with Edmund.)


	4. Chapter 4

Feeling uncomfortably full after their exorbitant lunch, Loki and Lucy clutched oversized goblets of mint tea to their chests and staggered into the palace courtyard. Edmund—lucky fellow—had recused himself from today’s harvest festival with a feeble excuse about finances, leaving Lucy with the responsibility of sampling the varied bounties that Narnians from every corner of the country had proudly brought for their majesties’ approval. Lucy, of course, had inveigled Loki into joining her.

Loki slumped into his favourite garden seat—the wrought-iron, red-cushioned love seat under the old oak tree. Lucy collapsed on it with him, closer than he usually allowed people, and threw her legs over his thighs. Together, they huddled against the intermittent autumn breeze and fell into a companionable silence. 

As he usually did on an overfull belly, Loki slipped into despondency. No matter how cozy his life in Cair Paravel, anger towards his family and swirling doubts about his entire life in Asgard continued to plague him. However, there _had_ been a change in his outlook. In recent weeks some of the anger against his brother had softened, and self-recrimination about their final fight had begun to creep in. Even more nightmarish versions of that scene on the Bifrost kept him up at nights, and left him with growing self-recrimination during the days.

Sometimes strains of his evening with Narnia’s underbelly crept into his Asgard-themed nightmares, for extra effect. For the most part, however, he tried not to think about it. He had not heard from the messengers of the White Witch’s party since that night, and they had not heard from him. As a master of denial, he’d convinced himself that things could continue in this vein. 

“Shall we have a bit of practice?” Lucy asked after a bit. She had quickly learned to tell when Loki was brooding, and when to snap him out of it.

“I’m still digesting,” Loki grumbled, more honestly and inelegantly than he ever would have at home. 

She picked fallen, reddened leaves out of his hair and out of her cleavage. “I meant in a little while. Right now, I can move no more than you can.” 

The sun shone in a cloudless sky, but in recent days it had lost some ground in its constant battle against winds that blew in from the Eastern Sea. The leaves had begun to turn color, and the hibernating animals had begun to put on weight. Loki, who had partaken in about five harvest festivals over the past week—one for each group of species, Lucy had explained—felt some commiseration. 

Loki had never let himself get this full at equivalent events in Asgard. He’d always been so focused on maintaining his poise, his superiority—even greater with everyone else drunk and lethargic around him. As he settled into his now-usual seat, he let his thoughts run on all the parties he had failed to enjoy, and a sense of regret began to settle in.

“Tell me a story,” Lucy demanded, sensing that he was about to brood again. “Tell me about the harvest festivals at Asgard.”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Tell it again, this time with…” She gestured vaguely, signifying that she wanted storytelling embellished by magic. 

After the Witch’s long reign, most Narnians remained afraid of magic. Most of the palace staff remained wary of Loki; the news that he was a sorcerer had been a set-back in terms of his acceptance into the court. However, Edmund and Lucy—especially Lucy—delighted in his tricks enough that everyone else politely suffered them. Even more, the king and queen delighted in his tales of Asgard, never failing to express a deep and desperate wish to visit and see the place with their own eyes.

In gratification of Lucy’s wishes, Loki managed conjured pale imitations of the lights and decorations that had adorned the garden during feast days. He focused on his favorite one—a recent birthday of Thor’s, when his brother had been particularly solicitous of Loki’s attention, although Loki hadn’t quite realized it at the time. He enjoyed today’s recreation more than he had allowed himself to enjoy the party at the time. Lucy clapped her hands with glee at each flourish, coincidentally enjoying the details that Loki most enjoyed creating. 

(Or perhaps that was what finding a friend felt like, a tiny voice in his head posited.)

Eventually, they roused themselves. Loki asked one of the servants to bring the gear. In the meanwhile, Lucy performed her bizarre ‘limbering up’ exercises. Loki had tried asking her whence this mania for lunges and stretches came, but she’d gotten the confused, vague look that Edmund sometimes did. Loki had learned to recognize the signs of the strange amnesia from which they both suffered, but he’d gotten no closer to understanding it. All he knew was that some powerful magic had placed this lock on their memories, but what magic, and who had done it, remained a mystery.

They’d started this practice a few weeks before. After hearing about some of his battles back home, Lucy had insisted that he tutor her. Loki had always loathed sparring at home, where, no matter how much he excelled, he would never be the _most_ dangerous fighter on the field. Here, and with a partner who routinely praised his prowess, he welcomed the practice.

Lucy gripped her dagger and stalked around him like one of the big cats that served as her bodyguards. She jabbed in and out, as Loki had taught her, looking for weaknesses in his defenses.

“Ha!” she cried with pride, after a closer than usual thrust. “I almost had you!”

“That is only what I wanted you to think. So that you would let down your guard and allow me to do this.” Loki caught her by the waist and whirled her around so that his blade almost—but didn’t quite—pierce the thin skin of her neck. “Your glee at small victories blinds you to the larger dance. Do you see how close I came? That, my queen, is control. And since you—through no fault of your own—lack both stature and strength, it is on self-control and precision that you must rely.”

“That’s easy for you to say. A great, strapping thing like you.”

In a life spent standing next to Thor, this was the first anyone had ever paid Loki such a compliment. Even more gratifying, he knew she meant it genuinely, with no flirtatious designs.

“Try me again,” she commanded. For all her merriment, she shared her brother’s steely core. They didn’t call her ‘Valiant’ out of politeness, Loki had learned. 

Edmund appeared just as they were getting into it. He leaned against the castle walls to watch the spectacle. This time, Lucy kept her head and even managed to scrape Loki on the arm, but he was still able to grab hold of her arms and hold her as immobile as Hyacinth had on his first day in Narnia.

Loki released her, and, in time with Edmund, applauded.

“That was much better,” he said, with a warmth and pride he realized he didn’t have to feign.

“He’s the best teacher I’ve ever had,” Lucy announced, beaming at her brother. “He’s the only one who’s never let me win. You know how I hate when you and Peter do that.”

“I do not!” Edmund protested.

“You used to. You only stopped because of those couple of years when I was taller than you, and beat you without any handicap.”

Edmund ground his heel into the moist soil and grumbled, “It was only a few months.”

“More than long enough.”

Loki didn’t know how he ever could have thought these two were married. They were too much alike, and too much like himself and Thor, years ago, before jealousies and bitterness—largely from his side, he’d begun to see—had changed things. 

“And what about me, Loki?” Edmund asked. He set his crown on a bench, shook his wavy hair, and smiled dangerously—the kind of smile that had a stronger effect on Loki’s loins than his more mirthful ones. “You are not much bigger, but your kind appears to be rather stronger. Would you let _me_ win?” 

“I would never insult you so,” Loki replied lightly.

“Ah, but Edmund doesn’t need stature or strength,” Lucy added in a twinkling simper. “He is a master of self-control. Aren’t you, brother?”

(Lucy, Loki had learned, liked to call Edmund “brother” when she meant to tease; her tone was eerily similar to the one Loki used on Thor in similar situations. And Edmund’s warningly growled response of “Lucy” sounded just like Thor’s; the first and last letters were even the same.) 

Loki gestured at the variety of weapons splayed on the balcony railing. “What shall it be?”

“Swords, if you please. It will be a rare treat to practice with someone the right height, and who isn’t my brother. The centaurs are entirely too tall, and the dwarves all too short.”

Edmund… well, he had the same effect on Loki, except with an additional, and dangerous, layer of distraction that had taken told on his first day in Narnia, with no abatement. In fact, his unwanted attraction had only increased, while the nausea elicited by the magic that hung around Edmund had begun to decrease from continued exposure. 

“Ready?” Edmund asked once he’d chosen a weapon from the assortment the servant had brought.

“If you think you’re sufficiently prepared to meet my blade,” Loki countered. The wine from lunch had been bottled especially for him, made to be much stronger than normal—strong enough to make Rumblebuffin the only other attendee who could handle it. It had gone to his head a little, loosening his forked, double-entendre loving tongue.

“Oh, I’m always prepared,” Edmund replied coolly. “I was a scout, you know.” 

“What’s a scout?” 

The familiar cloud of vague confusion passed quickly over Edmund’s brow when he replied, “Not sure, actually.” He swatted it away and set himself en garde.

Whoever had taught Edmund swordsmanship must have been a great master. Or perhaps Edmund had practiced his whole life with the quiet determination that he applied to everything. Likely both. His form was flawless. Even the impossible to impress Sif might have ceded him praise. Limber and lithe, Edmund used his sword cleverly and straightforwardly, always two steps ahead of his opponent. Loki, who had always prided himself on fighting skills that no one gave him sufficient credit for, actually had to try to keep up. 

“Fight me,” he grunted when he saw Edmund holding back. “Do not insult me by sparing me. I can take whatever you dole out.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” Edmund said with a wicked grin. He’d been so strategic in his motions that he’d barely broken a sweat.

And then they were at it for real. Edmund leaned in with even more grace and purpose, every line of his body arced like a dancer. Loki drew on the tension that had been brimming within him for months—tension to which Edmund had must have remained blithely unconscious, or else politely uninterested—and channeled it into the fight of his life. Loki used everything he had ever learned in Asgard. His old masters would have been proud. 

Edmund retained a cool head and parried every feint. He was so good that Loki didn’t know how he would win without hurting him. 

There was only one way, a trick that Fandral had always favored. 

He let Edmund back him up against the palace wall, giving every impression of losing ground. Edmund must have sensed impending duplicity, because, contrary to Loki’s expectations, he became more careful, not less. However, not even he could guess what was coming. 

Soon, Loki was pressed fully against the cold stone. They were so close that he could feel Edmund’s breath against his face, feel his knee wedging between his legs, feel all that nauseating magic coming off him in waves. If Loki was going to do it, it had to be now, before other… distractions… created problems for him, or became known to his opponent. Or before he puked. Both were imminent.

Loki moved his sword arm slightly to the side and then twisted his wrist just so, wrenching the sword out of Edmund’s hand. It went flying, leaving Edmund swearing under his breath and wringing his wrist.

“You little swine,” Edmund seethed, forgetting himself, and pressing himself even closer to Loki with a flash of temper. “You fight dirty.”

Ah, _there_ was the petulant child who had sold his family out for sweeties. If Loki had found Edmund attractive before, he felt the pull even more strongly now, seeing underneath the perfect poise. 

Loki was still panting when he shook his head and replied, practically licking Edmund’s too-close face, “That wasn’t me fighting dirty. You’ll know it when you see it. I won’t be using a sword.”

Edmund flushed, most likely with anger, and suddenly drew back, as though stung.

Loki regretted having gone too far; perhaps that was the confirmation. Perhaps Edmund knew how Loki lusted, and had been politely trying to ignore it. He vowed to keep himself and his impulses under better control going forward.

“Well done!” Lucy cried, clapping.

Loki had forgotten she was even there. There was an awkward minute where he and Edmund shook hands and traded stilted compliments before Edmund turned on his heel and stalked over to where Lucy had left her goblet. Keeping his back to Loki and Lucy, he helped himself to the rest of his sister’s drink. For his part, Loki with drew to the other side of the courtyard and made a show of cleaning his weapon while he calmed his head… and other parts of himself.

“Will you teach me that trick?” Edmund asked once they’d finally reconvened by where Lucy sat with her feet propped up on a stump.

“You would sully your noble hand with the dirty trick of a little swine?” Loki asked sardonically. 

“Faugh. I simply want know how to quickly end a fight without killing my opponent. Such a skill might come in handy one day. And I’m sorry for the insult,” Edmund added. “I didn’t mean it.”

Loki shrugged. “I know you didn’t. And anyway, I’ve been called worse.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” Then he repeated, “Will you teach me the trick?”

“Me, too!” Lucy piped up.

“Of course.”

They all took up their weapons again. Loki placed Lucy between him and Edmund, so that he’d be able to concentrate. He had barely finished his instruction when one of the faun sentries came rushing into the courtyard.

“Your majesties,” he panted, resting his hands on his hairy hooves. He looked as though he’d run from the farthest gate of Cair Paravel.

"What is it, Bingle?" Lucy asked.

"Giants. Giants amassing in the Western Wilds and attacking our borders. They are on the move.”

"That can't be,” Edmund said. “Peter scattered their ranks, defeated them utterly. It's been years since they bothered us."

"I know, your majesty. But they have begun again, and in greater numbers. Reports say they are behaving in an almost... organized… manner."

“Giants? Organized?” Edmund snorted. "That doesn't sound bloody likely."

"On the contrary, your majesty," the faun said, evidently as confused by the king’s speech as Loki felt, "it has so far been very bloody. An entire forest has already been uprooted by their attacks. Dryads and Talking birds lie dead in the grass." 

“Dead?” Lucy sputtered, growing pale. “The brutes!”

“But this means war,” Edmund said, in a whisper that was more terrifyingly angry than a shout would have been. 

“Nothing less,” Lucy agreed. “Though I cannot understand it. The giants have been quiet for so long. I wonder what has roused them.”

"It is almost as though they had found a leader,” Bingle said. “Someone with superior intelligence.”

“The report is verified, without a doubt?" Edmund asked. 

"Two eagles and a leopard have all arrived in the past few minutes bearing the same news, your majesty. They also bring news of a cold front. The kind of unnatural, south-blowing wind that hasn’t been felt since the Witch’s winter. No one would have noted it normally, but with so many other odd happenings in the region, some think the two are connected.”

"Strange. But I agree the two are likely related. Giants prefer the cold. The only reason they continued to attack us for so long was because they were too stupid to realize Narnia had become a temperate climate again. If this new wind and weather have led them to believe the Witch’s winter has returned, it could explain…” Edmund sighed. "But the reason doesn’t matter. The result is the same. We cannot sit here and speculate when there are Narnians suffering.” He looked at Bingle and said, in a grave voice, “Send the ravens and the sparrows. Send them to the mines, to the marshes and plains. Send word all over Narnia that we are going to war. Again. Whoever can come will be appreciated."

"Yes, your majesty." Bingle bowed and took off at a run.

This was not how Loki had ever heard of soldiers being called. He didn’t know there could be a choice. 

"They're not going to like this," Lucy said. "So soon after the last one."

"They'll like it better than that business at Anvard. Everyone hates the giants. They are a nearer and more personal enemy than Calormen. The cause isn’t what worries me. It’s this new organization. And the timing. I’ve never fought the giants. That’s always been Peter’s specialty. And now with him gone…”

Lucy hugged him from behind. "We won the Battle of Anvard without Peter. You and me. Peter had nothing to do with it. And _you_ defeated and captured Rabadash. You can do it again.”

“The combined forces of Narnia and Archenland defeated a mid-sized cavalry that had been disavowed by the Tisroc. That’s all. And their leader captured himself, by sheer bloody accident.”

Loki had remained silent all through all this, not thinking it his place to interject. Meanwhile, he goggled. Edmund had always projected such confidence, such skill at all components of ruling. Loki had just witnessed first-hand what a dangerous force Edmund must be on the battlefield. He hadn’t known that Edmund felt an iota of self-doubt, about being king, or fighting, or _anything_.

Perhaps it could happen to anyone. Regardless, the knowledge that Edmund felt any insecurity endeared him even more strongly to Loki. Especially the fear of not measuring up to Peter’s past victories. It was empathy for this that finally roused him to speak, to voice his surprisingly earnest support.

“If I could be of any assistance…” he said for the first time.

“This isn’t your fight,” Edmund said absently. “You can remain here with Lucy.”

“What are you talking about?” she protested. “I’m coming, too, to lead the archers.”

“If the others were here, you would, of course. But one of us four must remain at Cair Paravel. You know that.”

Lucy grumbled but made no further argument. It must have been an old and solemn agreement between the siblings.

“If you would prefer that I stay behind and defend the queen’s grace,” Loki said, “I will accept the responsibility with honour. However…”

“The queen’s grace can more than take care of herself,” Edmund said. Brightening for the first time since hearing the news of the attack, he asked, “You would really fight for Narnia?”

“Of course. You and Narnia have provided me sanctuary. More than that: a comfortable home. It is time I began to repay you. Plus, I know a thing or two about battling giants.” Loki had decided there was no better way to demonstrate his trustworthiness and establish, beyond any future doubt, his loyalty to the crown. One never knew when such trust might come in handy.

He’d also been growing a bit antsy of sedentary life at Cair Paravel. A trek through the countryside would do him good. He was made of such sturdier stuff than the fragile humans and even fragile little creatures that he feared little from this battle. 

“I didn’t want to ask for fear that you might think fighting a prerequisite to your continued welcome here. But if you volunteer… I would be glad to have you by my side.”

Edmund smiled and rubbed Loki’s shoulder. His hand lingered on the edge of too long, past Loki’s ability to repress his reactions. Edmund must have felt the slight flinch, because he quickly withdrew his fingers. His smile straightened back into seriousness. 

“And so,” he sighed, gripping Lucy’s hand instead. “To war.”


	5. Chapter 5

Loki had never employed a squire. The concept was foreign in Asgard, where everyone, including princes, took pride in making their own battle preparations. However, in Narnia, squiring was considered a great privilege. Loki’s manservant—rabbit servant, technically—saw the war as an opportunity to move up in the palace household hierarchy. Longear requisitioned Edmund’s second-best sword, and, with paws ill-suited to the task, polished a suit of mail from King Peter’s wardrobe.

“It might be a bit too broad across the chest, but it’ll keep you safe,” Longear said, oblivious to the insult.

Loki was not only surprised by the quality of the armour that came out of the Cair Paravel closets, but also at how quickly the army gathered. Only two days after the message about the giant attacks had arrived, a small but fearsome host had gathered at the outskirts of the palace. Great cats and elephants with dangerous claws and tusks. Dwarves with axes longer than themselves. The usually torpid bears had put aside gossip about honey stores in favor of showing their teeth. There was even a giant, which Loki at first took as a sign of the enemy at their doorstep, until Edmund decided to make introductions.

“It is the witch come back again!” the creature bellowed when he spotted the king with someone unfamiliar.

“No, this is a friend of mine,” Edmund yelled back. “He’s Loki.”

“Smokey? Shall I put him out, sire?” The giant raised his great foot, ready to stomp.

Loki immediately went on the defensive, gathering his magic, and raising his arm for an attack.

Edmund waved them both to stop. “No, no. _Loki_. That is his name. He is on our side. You are not to harm him.” Aside, to Loki he said, “This is the giant Rumblebuffin. He’s a very nice chap, from a very good family, but a bit hard of hearing. On account of the height more than his ears, really.”

“Hi there,” Loki said with forced politeness, only after the giant had lowered his foot back to the ground again. He abruptly discovered that the reward for good manners was to be picked up by trunk-like fingers and raised high into the air. 

“Ah, I see now that I’ve gotten a better look at you. Couldn’t possibly be the witch. You’re much prettier. Are you certain you don’t have any giant in you? Because I would very much like to…”

“If you’ll kindly put me back down…” Loki tried not to squeak, but he struggled with feelings of horror at the idea of how close the simple Rumblebuffin had come to the truth.

He practically ran to Edmund’s side as soon as he was free and on the ground again. Edmund tried and failed to hold in his laughter. Rumblebuffin soon grew distracted and stomped off to greet an old eagle acquaintance who was able to engage with him at a more comfortable height.

“It seems that you have a new admirer,” Edmund teased. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Loki grumbled. Changing the subject, he said, “This is quite a turnout. And you say there is another force further north?”

“Narnia always rallies for fights against the giants.”

“No, I think they rally for you.”

“Flatterer,” Edmund chided, but he smiled shyly into the collar of his armour. “By the by, I have found a horse for you. Longear will take you to him. I need to confer with Lu one last time.”

Loki knew the way to the stables well enough, but Longear insisted on leading him, despite the gear being entirely too heavy for him to carry. In the end, he very proudly bore Loki’s gloves, while Loki shouldered the rest of it.

Unlike stables in Asgard, the one at Cair Paravel had the air of a hotel. There were a few berths holding the dumb animals that their majesties rode, but dumb horses were scarce in Narnia. The rest of the structure was given over to more luxurious sections where Talking Horses stayed during visits. 

“One, two, three, four,” Longear counted, quite clearly looking for something. “Five! Are you Bree?” 

“Yes, that’s me.” The big, dappled horse in the fifth stall looked up, swishing his mane. He was a strong-looking war horse in his prime, one that Loki estimated could gallop at full tilt for at least a couple of miles, without tiring those powerful joints. 

While Loki was making these silent observations, the horse was doing the same, looking Loki over with an even more appraising eye, as though there were similar notes to make about riders as there were about horses.

Loki didn’t like it, didn’t like this new venue for judgment, and feared that he might somehow fall short, yet again. This time, in the eyes of a horse.

“Are you the human I’m supposed to take to battle?”

Loki had spent his whole life thinking of horses as witless vehicles; it jarred to have the tables turned, to be referred to as though he were merely a parcel.

“My name is Loki. And I am no human,” he said, more proudly then he had since finding out his true heritage. He needed _something_ to say to prove his superiority over this animal.

“ _Prince_ Loki,” Longear added smugly. Since the day of Loki’s arrival, he had been extremely proud to serve royalty, even though he had never heard of the country.

It was the first wholly pleasing thing the rabbit had ever said, in Loki’s mind.

“You’re rather taller than I expected, but slight, which is good weight-wise. You look pretty well-balanced, too. Very long legs, though. Mind you don’t kick me in the stomach, and we’ll get along fine. You _do_ know how to ride, I hope. I don’t mind giving a bit of instruction on the road—I’ve done a fair bit of it, in fact—but the way to war’s no place for—”

“I’ve been riding horses since before this world was created,” Loki snipped back.

“Well, a few years is all one needs, so that’ll do nicely,” the horse said, undercutting Loki’s position without even seeming to realize he was doing it. To add insult to injury, he bent his head down to chew on more oats. Maddening. “My name’s Bree, by the way. Well, not exactly, but that’s the most you humans seem able to get out.”

“I said, I am _not_ —”

“Kind Edmund recommended Bree for you because of his long experience as a war horse in Calormen,” Longear explained, in the fastidiously polite tone he had come to adopt when trying to stem Loki’s ill-temper. “So, he is used to fighters on his back. And like you, he is a recent arrival in Narnia. Just come back a year ago after a long absence. I’d load your things into the saddlebags, but unfortunately, my… my stature…” His ears flopped in mortification.

“I can pack it up myself,” Loki said. Longear’s tragically drooping ears softened even his brittle temper, so he added, more kindly than he ever had before, “You’ve done very well. Thank you.”

Longear’s appendages bounced back immediately, and he smiled—a toothy, rabid-looking grimace, but it was meant as a smile—before bowing and hopping outside. 

“You aren’t from Archenland,” Bree observed proudly. “ _I_ know the royal family quite well, and—”

“No, I’m from a place you’ve never heard of.”

“I’m quite well-traveled,” the horse boasted. “Why not—”

“Trust me.”

“I have to ask… What service did a stranger from a faraway land render King Edmund and Queen Lucy to be invited to live here as part of the family, and to ride a Talking Horse into battle? I’ve never heard of them granting privileges like that to anyone.”

No one had ever put it to Loki like that before, and he hadn’t known that his situation was so unique. Edmund and Lucy were so friendly that he’d have assumed other guests had come and gone. He thought back to that overheard conversation from his first night in Narnia, and said, “I haven’t rendered them any service at all. I rather suspect that the reason I’m here is because Queen Lucy was in the mood to take on a project, and the King’s only weakness is in giving in to her whims. I arrived at just the right time.”

“Hm,” Bree said with hay in his mouth. “And how is it working? Her project, I mean.”

Loki hadn’t ever thought about it that way before. He’d considered his own feelings, of course, quite obsessively. But what exactly Lucy had had in mind when she’d inveigled her brother into extending an invitation hadn’t seemed important until now. No one in their right minds would have called a girl as popular as Lucy ‘lonely’, and yet… Loki had initially intended to manipulate everyone here, but in reality, it was Lucy who had gently, imperceptibly, nudged Loki into being the kind of person-shaped friend she and Edmund seemed to be lacking in Narnia.

“She is likely pleased with her efforts,” he finally answered.

“I say,” Bree asked, too quickly, and with over-compensating defiance, “before we go, do you mind if I have a bit of a roll? I know it isn’t dignified, especially for a big war horse like myself, but it _does_ feel so nice and loosen the limbs before a big ride. You wouldn’t understand.”

Loki, who had transformed himself into a horse more often than he’d ever admit actually understood quite well. 

“Roll away.” He watched Bree get into position and then counseled, “You’ll find that you get an even better stretch if you press your foreleg against the wall here. Yes, there, like that…”

“Oh, that’s very nice,” Bree snorted happily. “I can see we’ll get along very well.”

Bree had unexpectedly cogent views on such topics as weight balancing and which compartments were most efficient holders for which kind of gear. By the time they rode out of the palace complex to join the rest of the army, Loki found himself feeling more confident and comfortable than he ever had in the saddle.

A faun blew on a horn, and the army began to march. From above on the ramparts, Lucy waved a lion-embroidered tablecloth and yelled personalized encouragement to everyone her eyes could make out. She was still cheering even as they marched out of earshot.

“I haven’t been to this part of the country since I was a foal,” Bree noted on the way, once they’d left the palace far behind, and entered a plain full of a special kind of autumn lily that Loki had only ever seen on Muspelheim and here, in Narnia. 

“And I have never been here at all. But the landscape reminds me of the road to a different war I once fought in.” 

“Tell me. I love stories of great battles.”

Loki had told this one to Edmund and Lucy a few times by now, but today he enjoyed a new, and equally rapt audience. He and Bree exchanged various stories of battle and valor on the long march north. However, even with all the conversation, Loki’s focus never wavered from the land itself, which thrummed, impossibly, with even more magic than in the parts of Narnia he had visited (the Stone Table excepted, of course). 

The more he learned about this realm, the more he'd come to feel certain, even though no one living here had the capacity to confirm, that Narnia, despite its small size, was the center of the magic responsible for this entire realm’s existence. The fact that the Stone Table lay within an hour’s flight of Cair Paravel added further evidence.

He’d been confused when he first arrived, but he now guessed that this was a sort of sponge realm, with holes and connection points to other places. It explained the variety of the fauna here, and even some of the flora, familiar from other realms. They must have migrated through. 

Loki already knew of a few soft spots, connectors to other realms. So far, he knew of the one in the sky through which he had fallen. There was also the one near the Western Wild that the Pevensies had come through, and promptly forgotten the location of, along with everything else about their previous lives. Loki had read between the lines of Calormene and Galman history enough to guess that those people had come from elsewhere. And while all the histories agreed that the rulers of Archenland traced back to the first rulers of Narnia, no one could say for certain whence the rest of the population had come. Loki doubted King Frank and Queen Helen had been _that_ bountiful with their progeny, or that their children had been so incestuous.

Soft spots were difficult to find, and were most likely closing up as the world aged, but if he could pinpoint one, there might be a way home. Loki could tell that he was the only person in Narnia who knew how to look for one. This ride and this war were taking him in a new direction, one where he might find such a spot. 

The only problem was that, after months at Cair Paravel, Loki felt even less certain that he wanted to leave, even if he might be welcomed back. Yes, his wee hours thoughts and nightmares about Thor had slowly begun to slide towards regret instead of anger, but besides that… Even with the smell and the mess and the bestial inconvenience of it all, he felt more relaxed here than he ever had. Far from wanting to return, he had recently begun to fear that Asgard, lacking the Bifrost, might utilize one of these soft spots to snatch him away from his new friends, long before he was ready. Snatched just as abruptly as Bree had been. The horse’s story renewed fears that months of pleasant palace living had dulled.

He saw very little of Edmund until they made camp on the fourth day. Given the ever-increasing size of the army, the king had hardly any time for chit-chat with new friends. Whenever Loki caught sight of him, he was greeting new recruits, listening to falcon spies that landed on his arm, practicing with the archers, and catching up with old acquaintances that he hadn’t seen since the last war. In lieu of his normal companions, Loki spent most of his time learning about Calormen from Bree and fending off Longear’s tender mercies. He took meals with some of the friendly fauns to whom Tumnus had introduced him at recent harvest festivals. Of all the people in Narnia, the fauns were the friendliest, so long as you deigned to dance a bit. Loki did, stiffly, just enough to get into their good graces.

Loki had just finished setting up his tent when Sallowpad the Raven flew over and lighted on top of it.

“You’ve been summoned to the king’s tent for a council meeting,” he said, looking sidelong at Loki, which grated, until Loki reminded himself that there was no other way a bird could look.

The royal tent was larger, but no more luxurious than anyone else’s. Inside, he and Sallowpad found Edmund surrounded by a couple of dwarves, a Marshwiggle, Chervy the Stag, a centaur, and Greywing the owl.

“Ah, there you are,” Edmund said as soon as he spotted Loki’s legs under the belly of the centaur. 

Ignoring the dark glares of the centaur, who still believed the dark prophesies that had accompanied the day of his fall, Loki weaved his way around everyone else to present himself to the king. 

“You called, sire?” Although they’d grown casual with one another when they were on their own or with Lucy, Loki thought it prudent to maintain strict formality in such situations.

Edmund was absent-mindedly playing with the lion engraving on his scabbard, as he often did when thinking hard. “New intelligence suggests that our enemy more complicated than usual. In fact, the descriptions put me in mind of tales you have told me, which is why I called for you.” 

“What do you mean?”

Edmund nodded at Chervy. “Tell him what you began to tell us.”

“The sparrows and I went on a spying raid,” Chervy said. “Every other enemy we’ve ever faced knows to suspect animals. They know what Narnia is. But these creatures allowed the sparrows to land even at their windowsills. They barely noticed when I, emboldened by this laxity, wandered through their camp.”

“A terrible and dangerous risk that I’ll continue to chide you for,” Edmund interrupted.

Chervy bowed his head. “I know, sire. And I am sorry. But without this risk, we would have failed to gather this crucial information.”

“And that is…?” Loki prompted.

“Creatures—shaped like men, but taller, and blue, with red eyes and drawings on their faces, or lines. Very strong looking.”

Chervy was having a hard time describing them, but what he’d gotten at was more than enough to make all the muscles of Loki’s body clench in terror. Only due a lifetime of practice was he able to control his face. 

“They sat at the center of the giant horde,” the stag continued. “They have the Northern giants in a trance, almost as though they are controlling the giants’ movements. That is why the brutes seem more organized in this assault. It is because their minds and motions are not their own. They are little more than tools.”

“And so, you see why I called you, Loki, so you could hear the rest,” Edmund said. “This report reminded me of your Frost Giants of Jotunheim.” 

“Indeed,” Loki said, working hard to keep his voice calm, even though inside he was panicking—panicking because they were _here_ , in Narnia, where he’d thought he was safe. “In fact, the description is so precise that I cannot imagine they could be anything else. And it explains why they failed to suspect Chervy and his companions of having intelligent ears. No one from my realm knows of this land, so I can believe that the Jotun are ignorant of the particulars, as well.”

To the rest of the room Edmund explained, “He speaks of beings from another world—not mine, not his, but another. The people of Loki’s world have had contact with them, have fought them and won.” 

“But how did they get here?” Thornbut the dwarf asked.

“The same way I did, I’m guessing. The same way their majesties did,” Loki said. “Through the kind of door you don’t know you’ve walked through until it’s too late.”

“But these people did not stumble through or fall,” Chervy countered. “That is the next part of my report. They came here by design. They have come looking for the Witch. They believe her still to be queen. From their conversation, it became clear that some of her magic came from them—the wand and the winter both. She struck a deal with them to gain that power, and they have come to collect.”

“Collect what?” one of the dwarves asked. 

“It was here that I failed to fully understand. They wanted… a word? A dep… deprecatory word, it sounded like. Though why a need for new uncouth vocabulary should spur them to cross the worlds and start a war…”

This time, not even Loki’s self-command could hold firm. “The Deplorable Word?”

Chervy swung his horns in excitement. “Yes, that was it! Thank you.”

“Do you know what that means, Loki?” Edmund asked.

“It is but a legend. A word that, when uttered by one with pure, cold hatred in their heart, could silence an eternal realm, vanish an entire population. There are stories about a lost, dead realm that was quieted by a queen who used it, but these… I had not thought anyone but the most venerated historians in Asgard had heard of it. It is a tactic wished for only in the most extreme circumstances, because to use it means to annihilate your own friends, too.”

“Seems to me that someone who’d use it probably doesn’t have any friends,” Edmund pointed out.

“True,” Loki said. “I had thought it a fiction, but the Jotun are not easily taken. If they have come all this way to collect, then it must be real.”

“Well, if we had any doubts about how aggressively we need to fight,” Sallowpad croaked, “they are gone. These creatures mean to destroy our world.”

“No,” Loki said, standing. “They mean to destroy the one I came from.”

“What?”

“Asgard is the enemy of which you heard them speak. They were held back by… by the king around the time of my birth. They were prevented from subjugating the realm from which the king hails, in fact. And recently.. well, they suffered a fresh attack, which has likely left them thirsty for blood on a scale hitherto unimagined.”

“Ah, vampires, too?” the Marshwiggle said. “Well, I suppose we should count our blessings. At least they mean to drain us before they scorch the land. It could be worse; they could have preferred to leave us alive to watch it burn.”

“I... What?” Loki asked, confused.

“Can’t we simply tell them that the witch is dead, and her secret words dead with her?” Sallowpad asked. “If they want to destroy your world, Prince Loki, perhaps informing her that she is dead will appease them. We cannot pay her debt, not with what they want.”

“It will not be so simple. If they have met the Witch, which it seems they did, then they must know this realm is one with doors between, through which they could get to mine. They would conquer your world along the way, for sport.”

“And therefore, how should we respond?” the centaur asked.

“By fighting with everything you’ve got. But even then, you are no match for them. Your only hope is by fighting a little differently than you usually do.”

“Fighting dirty, you mean?” Edmund said, sparking to remember the last conversation they’d had.

“Exactly.”

“What have you in mind?”

“Give me some time and I will think of something.”

“Time that we do not have. The scouts say are already on the other side of this mountain,” said Thornbut the dwarf. “They’ll be upon us by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I can think quickly. I will be back at dawn with a solution.” 

“You’ll understand if we make our own alternate plan,” the centaur said. Turning to Edmund, he continued, “I don’t think it wise to put our entire strategy in the hands and mind of this stranger.”

“Of course,” Edmund said sweetly. “More plans are always better than just one. I am sure that in the morning we can combine your two plans into an even greater strategy than either one alone. According to the falcons, we will have most of the morning to come to an agreement and make our preparations for attack.

He clapped his hands to dismiss everyone. Everyone bowed and began to make their way out, but Edmund grabbed Loki’s hand, motioning for him to stay behind. 

“What was this attack, Loki?” Edmund asked, squinting hard, as though seeing right into Loki’s soul. “The one against their world.”

“Why do you ask?” Loki replied, fishing for more time to think of a response, but thinking was impossible with those keen eyes exercising the power that they had during their first interview. 

“Because you very obviously didn’t want to say. And that can only mean… Were you responsible for it?”

Loki sighed. There was little point in lying, not when Edmund would be able to see through it. “I was.”

“Was it sanctioned by your government? Or was it…”

“I acted alone.” The confessional words fell out of Loki’s mouth, almost unbidden. The magic radiating off Edmund—stronger than usual during this conversation—made him step back, seeking air. He grabbed a table to keep his knees strong. As manfully as he could, owning responsibility in a clearer way than he ever had before, he declared, “I… tried to destroy their realm. I killed their king.”

Edmund’s eyes widened as he received possibly even more truth than he had been looking for. “Why?”

Loki blanched. There was a chance that Edmund might forgive him for the murder of Laufey and the attempted destruction of Jotunheim, but he would never be anything but disgusted to learn this truth of what he was.

“I… I thought it would impress my… I thought it would make me look more impressive than Thor. But when the plan failed… It turned out that my efforts would never have been appreciated, even if I had succeeded.”

Edmund frowned, disappointed at the obvious withholding, but he didn’t press. “And now they attack Narnia,” he said, with mild accusation.

“Yes, and I will help you stop them.”

“It’s odd,” Edmund mused, pacing his tent. “Chervy’s report was so full of detail, but there was nothing about them looking for you.”

“I can only imagine that it’s because they have no idea I am here. I’m certain everyone thinks me dead. I _should_ be dead, given the fall I had.” Loki gulped. “Would you hand me over if it turns out that they _have_ come looking for me, in addition to the witch’s spell?” 

Edmund looked as though he’d been punched. “Of course not! How could you possibly think…”

“It is what we in Asgard would have done,” Loki quietly admitted. “It is what I would have done, before coming here.”

Pale and suddenly trembling, he asked, “And now? Would you hand me over, if I were the traitor who had brought war upon your people?”

“No,” Loki answered, faster and more firmly than he had even known he felt. 

“Such generosity was once extended to me, and therefore I will forever extend it to others. Don’t worry, Loki. I promised you Narnia’s hospitality, and this changes nothing. Anyway, as you say, it seems that they don’t even know you’re here.”

They both knew what Edmund wasn’t saying: that here might be the chaos the centaurs had prophesied. It didn’t feel like chaos, however, not to Loki; his schemes tended to burn even brighter and more dramatically than this little war.

“Will you excuse me for the evening while I gather my resources?” Loki asked. “I promised you a plan, and I intend to come up with one.”

Edmund nodded and sank onto his cot, ready to take off his boots. “Yes, go. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Good-night.”

As Loki left, Edmund called out in a terrifyingly even voice, “By the by, Loki… You know—you _must_ know—that I like you, very much. And I empathize with your position. However, if you betray Narnia, I will kill you. Nay, _Lucy_ will kill you. And Peter and Susan will waltz on your bones. Do not make me regret ignoring the counsel of the centaurs.”

Loki didn’t know what waltzing was, which made the threat even more frightening. Or it would have, were he in any danger of earning it.

He bowed and left, mind already whirring in search of a plan.

* * *

The scouts must have grossly underestimated either the distance or the giants’ speed, because by dawn, everyone in the camp woke to the sensation of an endless earthquake. 

Amidst the growing odor of fear—stronger in animals than in people—Loki dressed himself as quickly as Longear’s well intentioned unhelpfulness would allow. When he entered the king’s tent, helmet up and sword drawn, he found Edmund pale and pacing, surrounded by panicked-looking advisors.

“What is it?” Loki asked.

“They are early. They are here,” Edmunf said. “They must have marched all night. They will be upon us at any moment, and we are not at all prepared, not in the advantaged hilltop position I had counted on us reaching. We are not in formation; it takes hours to ready ourselves. There is no time.”

“How little time?” Loki asked.

“The birds say fifteen minutes. Perhaps less,” Thornbut said.

“At least we can die sooner without worrying about it for additional hours,” the Marshwiggle said.

“We must decide on a plan quickly, sire,” Sallowpad said. 

“Did you think of anything?” Edmund asked Loki.

“Give the order for the army to fall silent, as silent as a tomb,” Loki replied. Let the giants approach, unaware that we are here. Let them come among us. And then when they are in our midst, with their guard down, we will sound the trumpet and begin our attack. We will have the advantage.”

“Are you mad? Quite the opposite of having their guard down, they will be on the hunt as soon as they spot us. The thing is suicide.”

“Not if they can’t see us.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Loki sheathed his sword and closed his eyes, feeling invisibility come over him. He heard the other council members gasping in surprise. 

Edmund kept his eyes on Loki the entire time and studied him for long seconds after he had reappeared. 

“You can do this for the whole army?” he asked, understanding.

“The tents as well. The entire camp.”

“Sire, I really don’t think…” the centaur said. “We have another plan, which, with some time and maneuvering…”

“Time we don’t have. Give the order,” Edmund said, while remaining focused on Loki. “Tell the troops to arm themselves, to line up, to be ready for anything. Tell them not to make a single sound until they hear my trumpet. When they hear it, they are to fight for their lives, and for Narnia.”

“Sire…” Sallowpad and the others tried to argue, but Edmund ignored him and moved outside the tent to give the order himself. 

The entire valley hushed. Within seconds, the only noise was the _thump thump thump_ of giant footsteps growing closer. Even the leaves bristled with it.

“Do it,” Edmund whispered to Loki.

Loki followed him out of the tent and surveyed the valley. It was a large area, dotted with brush and trees and little ponds. Difficult terrain to imagine empty, especially when he had never seen it that way; they’d arrived in the evening, when it was already getting dark. However, he closed his eyes and pictured it as well as he could. He replaced each creature with grass or a tree (in some cases, the soldiers were already trees), to create a lonely landscape.

This was the biggest, most extensive illusion Loki had ever attempted. Under normal circumstances, it might have taxed him to the point of collapse, but weeks—months now—of living in this magic-infused land had left him feeling powerful, and in need of dramatic release. 

When he opened his eyes, the Narnian army had vanished, and the valley looked exactly as he had imagined it. He held his hand in front of his face, but could not see it, because he was invisible, too.

A murmur went up as the army realized what had happened, as they ceased to see one another. But the generals quickly quieted them again.

“Black magic,” the centaur whispered from somewhere nearby. “Sire, I warned you about him.”

“I would not call this magic black,” Edmund’s voice answered thoughtfully. And then, too close, almost at Loki’s ear, he sniffed. “I know what black magic smells like, feels like, the way it suffuses you. And this… This is mischievous, but it does not smell of evil.” 

“What now?” Sallowpad whispered. 

“We wait,” Edmund replied. “I do not think we will need to wait long. I can already see their stupid heads coming over the ridge.”

He was right. Within minutes, the giants began to descend the hillside. The desultory force lumbered into the heather-speckled valley. If Loki had smelled the fear among the troops earlier, he began to add to it, because he spotted two smaller creatures among the giants. They were leading the larger ones, organizing them, just as the scouts had said. Blue creatures with red eyes and lines ridged on their skin. Frost Giants. 

Loki took a step back, and tripped over some small animal that must have been in his way. 

Then he heard Edmund’s trumpet. 

Per the signal, Loki closed his eyes and reversed the spell. Well, most of it. The entirety of the Narnian force came back into view, with the exception of himself. Edmund and the other advisors rushed off too quickly to notice his absence. He moved to the far edge of the battlefield, keeping the Frost Giants in his view, and as far away from him as possible.

As he’d predicted, the giants—and even the Frost Giants—lost momentum and all advantage when suddenly finding themselves in the middle of an attack. They didn’t know where to look, where to turn. They had no plan, no line, no time to strategize. It was as if their pleasant country walk had erupted into an ambush. 

Given the heterogeneity of the Asgardian army, picking out family and friends had always posed something of a difficulty in the melee of battle. Not so in Narnia. Loki had barely begun to survey the landscape before he picked Edmund out, of course, at the most dangerous part of the fighting. His mail shirt glistened even as it became spattered with blood. He fought beautifully, precisely slicing air and body parts alike with each swing of his sword. 

Loki added to the chaos by creating illusions of ghosts that only the enemy giants could see; the last thing he wanted to do was frighten the Narnians. Beautiful grey wisps of men and women floating high above the ground, near the giants’ heads. The great fools were so busy fighting the illusions that they forgot to fight the people attacking their feet. Not even the Frost Giants were able to get them focused again. 

“What are they swatting at?” he heard a bear ask a vole near him. 

“Who knows? And who cares? Whatever is wrong with them, it’s helping us win.” Together with a few others, they were tying a giant’s legs together with rope. 

“That was an awfully pretty trick, changing the view like that,” a tiger said. “I didn’t know King Edmund kept a magician on his staff.”

“I hope he keeps him a little longer, and loans him out, too. I could do with someone changing the view from my cave. I have some beaver neighbors who have built the ugliest dam. It’s too tall!” 

The giant they were tying finally fell. The eagles set upon its eyes and the dwarves set upon it with their axes. 

“We might get through this war with lower casualty rates than even the ones I fought under King Peter,” one of the dwarves near Loki remarked. 

“He’s always been a clever one, our King Edmund,” another said.

For the first time ever, Loki delighted to hear someone else reaping compliments from his handiwork. He smiled, invisibly, to himself.

Then someone grabbed him from behind and blew a kind of dust over him. Where the dust landed, Loki saw bits of himself revealed, the spell broken.

He recognized this shiny substance as the same kind the Witch’s wand had been made of, the same kind that her still-loyal followers had wanted him to find more of.

“There you are, sorcerer. Show yourself now, or we kill you where you stand.” It was one of the Frost Giants. He supported his words with a jab of his spear into the small of Loki’s back.

He had taken his eyes off them only for a moment, but that was apparently all the opportunity they’d needed. 

“How did you find me?” Loki asked.

“You are not the only mage on this field. Now, show yourself. I will not ask again.”

Loki let the invisibility drop, but put on a different face in the process. He imagined the young man who had used to clean his rooms at home. Light blonde hair, light brown skin, grey eyes.

“Who are you?” the first Frost Giant asked. 

“No one. Merely a member of the Narnian court.”

“The Narnian court? But I don’t see Jadis. Where is the queen? Where is the sorceress who failed to keep her end of her bargain with our king?”

“Your witch is dead,” Loki replied. “She has been dead for years.”

“Damn.” Looking at his partner, the Frost Giant said, “In that case, this has been a waste of time.”

“Wait a moment,” the other said, the mage. He struck Loki hard with the club he held in his other hand. “There’s something about this one. Something that doesn’t feel right.”

Loki sank to the ground, groaning from the pain in his head. The mage pressed his dark blue palm against Loki’s forehead. Loki screamed as his memories were pulled to the forefront of his mind and played at another’s command. He screamed even louder as he felt the stirrings of the unwanted transformation, caused by the Frost Giant’s touch. 

“It’s him!” the first Frost Giant said. 

“Laufey’s son,” the other whispered. “The blood traitor. How did he get here?”

“Who cares? This is a greater prize than anything this sorceress could have given us.” The mage released Loki, who felt himself thankfully return to normal. Then he spat at Loki and pulled him by the chain mail back to his feet. “There will be many happy to see your head on a spike.” 

“Let’s go,” the other Frost Giant said. “We have no further business in this realm, especially having gotten a prize like this. Let the battle play out. We will return to the passageway, and take him with us.”

They had barely dragged Loki more than a few steps when a huge sword came slicing through the air and lopped the head off one, and pierced through the heart of the other. Suddenly released from the arms that had held him, Loki lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. 

Before he could fully fall, a strong, armored, blood-covered arm caught him. Loki looked up to see Edmund’s eyes through the visor of his helmet.

“You looked like you could use a little help,” he said as he helped Loki back to his feet.

The magic that had focused the giants evaporated with the Jotuns’ last breath. Almost immediately, they became visibly confused, their naturally stupid selves. One by one, Loki saw them falling to the Narnians. Within a few minutes, it would all be over. It had already wound down enough that Edmund lifted his visor and began cleaning his sword, done fighting for the day.

He crouched down to get a better look at the bodies of the Frost Giants. “So these were the ‘organizers’ the scouts spoke of.”

“Disgusting, aren’t they?” Loki asked automatically. 

“I wouldn’t say that. They’re a lovely colour, and the lines are quite beautiful. See, this one has an entirely different pattern from the other. And see how strong they are. I was hardly about to let them menace you, but under any other circumstance, it would have been a shame to kill them.”

“You can’t really mean that.”

“Of course I do. Look, you don’t stay king of Narnia by turning your nose up at every new kind of being you come across.”

The elicited a short, hysterical burst of laughter from Loki. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

“They looked quite intelligent. Intelligent enough to have gone after you. Did they know that you were driving the illusion? Could they sense you? Is that what happened?”

“Yes,” Loki said, too shocked at Edmund’s words to be eloquent. 

“Fascinating.”

Edmund didn’t think the Frost Giants were hideous monsters. He didn’t think they were monsters at all. Loki didn’t know what to make of it. 

Even so, he had no intention of revealing himself. No matter how earnest his declarations of interest and admiration, Loki doubted that even Edmund’s open-mindedness could weather through such a discovery, nor that their friendship could survive it. Edmund may have found these forms lovely in the abstract, but he’d never actually befriend one, allow one to snuggle by the fireside with his sister, let alone desire one…

“So, did they hail from this Jotunheim place you’ve spoken of? Is it as we suspected?”

“Yes. They are Frost Giants.”

“Did they say anything to you?” Edmund asked. 

“The general gist of their conversation was about killing me.” 

“Charming.” 

Across the field, the army broke into a cheer. The last giant had fallen. The battle was over. 

“It seems I owe you a great debt today,” Edmund said. “We would not have won without your little trick.”

“Three cheers for King Edmund!” someone said. 

Loki’s ears almost burst from the resulting enthusiasm.

“And three cheers for Prince Loki of Asgard, whose magic helped us win this victory,” Edmund shouted as soon as he could be heard. 

Being a stranger to almost all of them, the cheer was softer than the one for Edmund had been, but Loki appreciated the gesture; few in Asgard would have bothered to celebrate his part. 

“How would you like to be a knight?” Edmund asked.

“What, now?”

Edmund nodded for Loki to kneel before him. Placing his sword first on Loki’s left shoulder and then his right, said, “And now rise, Sir Loki of the Western Wilds.” He helped Loki to his feet and then, suddenly, pulled him into an embrace. “No longer a guest, but an honorary Narnian.”

Loki practically collapsed against Edmund, but out of the corner of his eye, he kept the bodies of the Jotun in sight. More than that: the gear that they’d worn slung around their waists.

* * *

A few days later, when Loki had was safely back in his bedroom at Cair Paravel, he dug the whistle the wolf man had given him from the top of his wardrobe. 

The main worry he’d had since getting settled in Narnia was the fear of retribution, that the Jotun might find him and bring him to justice for his crimes. With his worst fears confirmed—Frost Giants in Narnia, a soft spot that might allow more through at any time, mages among them who knew his face—Loki’s lingering doubts about whether he wanted to traffic with the riff-raff of the White Witch’s followers dissolved. 

Loki had no wish to depose Edmund and Lucy, or to rule this noisy mess of a country, but he needed to be ready in case more came for him. And what better protection against the Frost Giants than a weapon their own magic had helped to create, further strengthened by whatever foreign arts the Witch had brought with her from her own world? And, as a supplementary benefit, once it was in his power, he could dispatch these foul creatures and solidify Edmund and Lucy’s regard beyond any future doubt.

He blew and blew on the whistle, but as promised, heard nothing. 

Within minutes, the bat was rapping its head against his windowsill.

Loki opened it just enough to let it in.

“We were beginning to lose faith in you. We were beginning to believe you had become the human usurpers’ creature in reality, not just in show,” it said threateningly. “And that was not pleasing to us.”

“Tell the others,” Loki said. “Tell them I’m all in. Tell them I’ve become sufficiently motivated, and want this as much as they do. Tell them that I’ve already made progress. You’ll get the ingredients you need for the spell to restore the wand.”

As a show of good faith, he presented the bat with the first ingredient: a bag full of the sparkling dust that he had taken off the corpses of the Jotun generals.

The bat nodded, approving. “This is very good news.”


	6. Chapter 6

Breakfast in Cair Paravel took place in the northern wing, in a bright room whose awkward and cramped proportions had rendered it unfit for any ceremonial use. Lucy had decked it out over the years into a cozy little clubhouse (“just for Ed and me—no stuffy older siblings allowed!”) in which they read their correspondence and planned their day.

A long wooden table took up most of the space; the end closest to the door served as a buffet that the servants set up before their majesties woke every morning. But Lucy’s favorite touch was what she and Edmund described as ‘a proper newspaper rack’, even though all they ever hung from it were their crowns. Lucy had commissioned the piece from what Loki could only assume were some very confused dwarves, given how she and Edmund had gotten that magically muddled look of theirs when Loki had asked what a newspaper was. However, mysterious amnesia or no, they were very pleased with their little room, and Loki could tell it was with great favour that they’d allowed him to share it with them. 

Unlike his two companions, Loki had neither correspondence nor crown, but he enjoyed the breakfast. He’d taken to propping his feet on the table and watching the show. 

Today’s performance stayed true to the general tone, even if the script differed slightly.

“Invitation from King Lune,” Lucy growled out around a mouthful of muffin. She shoved a piece of exquisite stationary down the table. It snagged on a groove in the wood, forcing Edmund to rise with a grunt in order to snatch it.

“We’ll go, won’t we?” Edmund asked, after reading through it.

Lucy didn’t look up from her reading. “Certainly.”

“You don’t sound very excited,” Loki noted. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said, at the same time as Edmund grumbled, “Of course we’re excited.”

Breakfast was Loki’s favorite time of day, precisely because it was Lucy and Edmund’s least favorite. He’d always found a perverse satisfaction in seeing people at their worst—especially those who were normally almost obnoxiously worthy. And by the Norns, these two paragons resembled demons before ten o’clock.

Every morning, they forgot their almost repulsive fondness for one another and waged exasperated war. Lucy needled Edmund, both intentionally and not, and with a greater command of sarcasm than Loki would have guessed upon first meeting her. Edmund’s keel took three cups of tea to even; before that, watch out. 

Loki liked to nibble at pastries from behind the barricade of a book and watch the sparks fly. The fact that they had extended their rude ill-humour to him warmed him more than any affectionate declarations might have done. He understood the specialness of this ill-treatment, and felt loved, even part of the family. 

After a few minutes of non-activity from Lucy’s end of the table, Edmund barked, “Well, are you going to write back or not?” 

“You do it.”

“Like everything else around here.”

Edmund retrieved a piece of paper from a stack that he kept stashed in corners of almost every room in the palace. Making surreptitious memoranda was one of his little peculiarities. He licked his pen for a few moments, getting purple ink all over his tongue, and wrote a few lines. If the letter captured the dictation Loki could hear Edmund mumbling to himself, then a list of titles outweighed any actual communication. The only worthwhile content Loki could make out was poorly articulated. 

_“Her grace and I delighted. Arriving as soon as pass is cleared.”_

When he was done, Edmund put the response aside in a pile that Loki knew would be delivered to the aviary keeper. 

“And what shall I do while you two are away?” Loki asked, after reading the letter himself and giving them a few minutes to broach the subject with him. He was feeling rather put out that no one yet had.

“What are you talking about?” Edmund snapped. 

“This is an invitation of state,” Loki said. “An invitation that does not extend to me. And your response didn’t seem to include me.” 

"He didn’t need to name you particularly for it to extend to you, you ninny,” Lucy argued. “Any friend of ours is a friend of Lune's. He's said so enough times over the years. But we shan’t make you go if you prefer to stay here."

"Have you ever had an opportunity to put that to the test? Generous offers are easily made when there is no prospect of them ever being executed."

Lucy groaned. "This Asgard of yours sounds very interesting, and there are some things and people from your stories I would like to see and meet. But honestly, the main reason I want to visit is to give everyone a proper scolding for having left you in this state of constant pessimism. It’s an invitation, Loki. Only someone who grew up around the worst kind of people would view it with suspicion.”

“I’m not sure it is entirely Asgard, Lu,” Edmund said with a grimace, followed by a twinkle. The third cup of tea must have hit his system. “After months of study, I’m inclined to think the problem is Loki himself, not Asgard.”

Unlike her brother, the effects of the muffin had not yet begun to work on Lucy. “Then I’ll go there and scold _Loki_ in-between bouts of sightseeing. It doesn’t matter much to me. Unless your invitation to visit you was actually not an invitation at all? Judging from how you view invitations from others…”

“Should I ever find myself back there, and in good enough graces to be able to receive visitors, you will, of course, be my first guests.”

“What a gracious way of not answering my question,” Lucy grumbled.

“You _will_ come, won’t you?” Edmund asked. “Lune is one the closest thing Lu and I had to, well, not a parent. More of an uncle, I suppose. It would mean the world to both of us to be able to introduce you to him. It’s your choice, of course. But it will such a disappointment if you don’t, and such a lark if you do.”

Not even Loki’s wary heart could withstand such genuine eagerness. 

"Perhaps I should bring a gift. To ensure my welcome beyond any doubt,” he replied, winning a happy smile from Edmund.

"Keep Corin quiet for the space of an evening, and you'll have given Lune the best gift he's ever received,” Lucy said. 

“You’ll love Archenland, I promise,” Edmund said. “And it’s a country of men, so you’ll get a break from all the hairballs in Narnia.”

“I’m not bothered by the hairballs.”

“You’re not nearly as good of a liar as you think you are. Anyway, unlike Narnia and Calormen, there’s almost no magic, so you’ll be popular, something of a novelty. Archenland is more of a regular country, you see, like Galma or Terebinthia.”

"So I’ve guessed,” Loki said. “It sounds interesting.”

"On the contrary, if not for our very dear friends, I’d find it terribly dull,” Edmund said. “Though I suppose Archenland’s dullness is not without its charms. The homogeneity of the population makes for easier ruling. Peter sometimes jokes that when he next wants a vacation, he’ll relieve King Lune of his duties for a month.”

If that was his idea of a joke, Loki thought, then Peter was even more of a bore than he had grown to imagine.

* * *

Four days later, as soon as news of a thaw had arrived, they sent another message to Lune of their impending departure. It took only a day to settle affairs at the castle and pack, and then they were on their way in a contraption that was half-sleigh and half carriage. It was covered in more bells than Loki had ever seen (Lucy called them “jolly”, Edmund called them “reassuring”, but Loki found it all “deafening”).

“What of your pact to always leave someone at Cair Paravel?” Loki asked as he climbed in.

“That pact was made for times of war. We’re only going to Archenland. We could be back at the castle within a couple of hours if we asked the eagles to do us a very great favour. And we are in no danger of being killed at Lune’s house.”

Loki couldn’t deny that he was pleased for the outing. Edmund and Lucy had taken him on many rides, but, aside from the war with the giants, this would be his first visit outside Narnia. However, far from rushing to their destination, they insisted on stopping to visit what Loki had to believe was every damned squirrel in the country. They practiced a hands-on style of ruling that he could have lived without. He spent three evenings suffering the hearty hospitality of random members of the populace—a stag here, a leopard there—and three nights curled up in cold caves, under itchy woolen blankets. He soon began to miss the comforts he had left at Cair Paravel, hairballs and all. (There were hairballs here, too.)

On the frigidly cold fourth morning, they passed through some forest that looked vaguely familiar, though Loki couldn’t put his finger on why. 

“I say, isn’t this where the Red Dwarves live?” Lucy remarked.

“Yes, it is. This is where you fist arrived, Loki,” Edmund said.

“Are we going to stop?” Loki asked with trepidation.

Edmund must have heard the tiredness in his voice, because he answered kindly, “On the way home. Onwards to Anvard!” 

"There it is!" Lucy cried upon seeing the top of a tower over the next hill. 

Soon, the entire castle came into view. Magic granted Cair Paravel splendour out of proportion to the importance of Narnia. However, though less showy, Anvard’s splendour was rooted in a reassuringly stolid reality. Its situation on flat land meant that Lune's ancestors had been able to build extensions over the years, resulting in an enormous, sprawling complex that was cleaner than Narnia’s most earnest servants had ever achieved. 

Loki had by now ceased to consciously notice the smell and feel of Narnia’s everyday magic—even his symptoms around Edmund had mostly abated due to constant exposure—but he could still sense the magic lessening as they crossed the border. 

Loki was still taking it all in when they trotted across the drawbridge and entered the courtyard of the castle at Anbard. Lucy had already run out of the carriage and thrown herself into the arms of a stout man of medium height and a happy red face. 

If Lucy was the merriest, most endearing little queen Loki had never had occasion to imagine, Lune was certainly her male counterpart, except with an extra thirty years and four stone.

"My dearest girl," he was saying. "I hope you aren't too old for me to call you that."

"Never."

Lune finally released her to give Edmund his own embrace. "It's good to see you. Aside from that odd giant attack, I’ve barely heard a peep out about Narnia since your brother and sister went away, which is to your credit. Both of you. A quiet country is usually a happy country. And to think you were nervous about ruling so long without the others."

"Well, we had a little help in that war, from someone from whom I’ve been learning very much. May I introduce you?" He waved at Loki, who had been hanging back by the archway. “Loki, meet our oldest friend, King Lune. Your majesty, meet our newest, Prince Loki. He comes from another world called Asgard.” 

“So this is the man, eh? The young sorcerer who made such a dramatic entrance? Even before the story of your deeds against the giants spread, tales of Duffle’s roof reached our ears."

"I'm sure Duffle made sure of that,” Edmund said with a laugh. “Dwarves can be such terrible whingers."

"Aye. Let me have a look at you." Lune’s idea of a look was more like a hug, in which Loki stiffened. 

He didn’t dislike King Lune—who could?—but he wasn’t accustomed to this kind of warmth from men, or kings, of his age. And certainly not from strangers.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Loki said politely.

“A cold fish, I see,” Lune said with a laugh, and then said to Lucy, “I can’t think how you became such friends.”

“It took weeks to thaw him,” Lucy replied. “But I think we’re most of the way there.”

“Let’s get all of you some cocoa and finish the job. Your friend’s nose is blue.” 

Struck with sudden terror, Loki checked himself in a nearby mirror, but he quickly saw that it was a normal kind of blue, the kind that comes of riding on a cold winter day.

A disheveled youth ran into the room. 

“Have you brought him?” he asked Lucy, without so much as a hello. 

The boy ran in the direction of her pointed finger. Stopping abruptly in front of Loki, he said, "They tell me you can do magic." 

Loki wanted to bristle at this rudeness, but, with a fond pang, he remembered how boyish spirits had caused Thor to act similarly around new and interesting arrivals. 

"Corin!” Lune admonished. “Is that any way to treat a guest? Apologize."

"Sorry," he mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. "But really, can you?"

Loki remembered Lucy’s words about getting into Lune’s good graces by keeping Corin distracted. With barely any effort, he turned Corin’s belt into a snake and made it wriggle around him. Some of the maids screamed, but Corin jumped for joy. 

"Coo," Corin breathed after Loki had let the spell dissolve. "That was pretty good. Better than the tricks the 'magicians' here do. I say, what _are_ you?"

“Corin!” Lune called again. “Prince Loki, I have to apologize for my son. I swear he was brought up in a palace, not a barn.”

"It’s quite all right,” Loki said, but didn’t answer Corin’s question. 

“Ever since he heard of your exploits against the giants,” Lune continued, “he hasn’t stopped pestering me to invite the lot of you down so he could meet you."

Edmund slapped Loki on the back. "And to think, you've been worried this whole time about not being wanted. When in fact, it is Lucy and I who are merely the vehicles that could bring the true guest here."

"Tosh," Lune said. "You will always be as welcome to me as my own children. You needed no invitation at all.” More gently and indulgently, he said, “Cor, come greet our guests. You remember King Edmund and Queen Lucy.”

A second Corin stepped forward. Loki had heard enough over the past few months to know the entire tale. He'd been curious about this Cor, the long-lost son who had returned, fulfilled a great heroic destiny, and reclaimed his birthright.

His story was everything Loki had ever dreamed of happening to him.

Therefore, even though he logically knew Cor would look exactly like Corin, he had somehow expected more—more presence, more charisma, more self-satisfaction etched in his features. Instead, he saw a quiet boy with shy manners who looked as uncomfortable in his fine clothes and little sword as Loki had felt in his own skin at that age (and if he were honest with himself, much more recently). Jealousy took an unexpected turn to sympathy.

“And how is our little stowaway?” Edmund asked.

Cor turned bright red. It took him a second to realize that Edmund was only teasing, but once he did, he replied, “Very well, your majesty.”

Loki had spent most of his life feeling sorry for himself. It made sense that the first time this sentiment extended beyond himself was towards someone who reminded him both of himself and of the story he’d always wanted for himself. With as much kindness as he could muster, he reached out a hand and said, "My name is Loki. I have heard much about you."

And then, just for a bit of fun, he made Cor appear to grow taller, a glimpse of the man he might one day become, if Loki’s forward-looking imagination was correct.

The illusion startled a smile out of Cor as he looked down on himself, and then shrank back to reality. “That was jolly. Can you do more?”

"There will be time for magic throughout the visit, but first, rest and food. Show our guests to their chambers, won't you, boys?" Lune called.

“See? Already a success,” Edmund whispered suddenly in Loki’s ear, entirely too close, leaving him feeling queasy, and not because of magic.

"I know where your room is," Cor said to Loki. "I'm sure Edmund and Lucy would prefer to go with Corin. Not that they need to be shown. They probably know this palace better than I do."

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Lune smile and subtly nod. He took the hint and followed Cor down a quiet hallway, leaving Edmund and Lucy behind.

"This is my room," Cor said as they passed a door. "And Corin's is just down the hall. If you look out that window, you'll see the tournament grounds."

It took a few more shyly enumerated points of interest for Loki to identify the quiet thrill in Cor’s voice. This must have been his first time showing the palace— _his_ palace—off, to anyone. As the newest resident, as a foreigner, he must have spent the past year listening and watching as others showed _him_ things. Now his words as he’d left the others to Corin’s rowdy mercies made more sense. Unlike Edmund and Lucy, Cor must have heard that Loki was similarly a newcomer, and the only member of the party who might be receptive to this first effort at hosting. 

"And here's your room." Cor pushed open a door and led Loki inside. 

It was simpler than his room at Cair Paravel, but the bed was longer, made by adults for adults, and not, as Loki suspected, for adolescents by dwarves who had no idea how tall humans could grow. 

“Do you like it?” Cor asked eagerly. 

“It’s very nice, thank you.” 

Loki began to worry that he’d spent too long in Narnia, because he felt—damned sentiment—for this boy, who so obviously felt out of place here, who did not share the heartiness of everyone around him. With every passing moment, he identified more with this… Loki shook his head. He was hardly ‘poor’, this crown prince.

“It won’t always be this difficult,” he said, despite himself, just before Cor left the room.

The prince turned around slowly. “What do you mean?”

“Your father seems a good man. Edmund and Lucy speak highly of everyone in Archenland. And here’s a secret: soon, you’ll grow old enough that no one can _make_ you take dancing lessons if you don’t want to. And one day,” he said, a little more wistfully than he meant to, “Corin will find ways to spend his time other than needling you. You might one day learn to miss it.”

Cor smiled, and this time he didn’t looks sadly downwards as he did it. “I say… Thanks.”

* * *

Whoever managed Lune’s table arrangements had seated Loki down near the end of the table, between Cor and a pretty Tarkheena, and directly across from Corin’s loud voice. In another circumstance, Loki might have taken his placement among the youths as a slight, but here, the princes were the highest ranking people at the table, save Lune, Lucy and Edmund, so he took it for what it was: a corner of princes, separated from the kings and queen by a few high-ranking nobles.

Corin, for his part, radiated uncomplicated delight, peppering Loki with questions about magic, about Asgard, about everything. Between all the talking, Loki barely had time to taste his courses before the allotted time was up. Cor and Aravis asked fewer questions, but remained just as attentive. 

Aravis’s haughty demeanor, quiet reserve, and ossified manners, which she was obviously trying to soften in order to fit in better in here, reminded Loki more of home than anyone he had met so far in this realm. Asgard was likely even more formal than Calormen, and he, too, had been making an effort since the day he’d arrived in Narnia to be as transparent and friendly as those around him. 

By the main course, Aravis had let down a few of her defenses, and begun to relax around him. They exchanged anecdotes about these strange northern people they had come to live with, and found many common experiences to share about being newcomers.

It took until the arrival of the meat course for Loki to notice that Cor, although quiet, looked just as homesick as Aravis did. More, perhaps. With his wire-thin practice crown, lion-embroidered tunics, and blond-fringed brow, it was easy to forget that he’d spent his entire life in Calormen, too. 

From the wistful expression on his face, Loki knew he was hardly the first to have forgotten. 

“What do you miss most about Calormen?” he asked both of them, but Cor more pointedly. “Paradise as Archenland is, there must be something.”

Before Aravis could say anything, Cor replied, “The tea.”

“What? What do you mean, tea? The tea here is immeasurably better than any we had in Calormen,” she exclaimed.

“I’m talking about a kind only the common people drink. _You_ wouldn’t know. Arsheesh made a very strong brew that, on a chilly morning, gave, oh, such comfort. There were a few purple petals in it for flavor, but mainly it was green leaves the color of… why, just the color of your cloak, Prince Loki. It smelled like moonlight.”

“I didn’t know you were such a poet, Cor,” Aravis snickered.

“Who is Arsheesh?” Loki asked.

“My… er, the man who…” Cor blushed. “I was a slave, you see.”

“What was the tea called?” Loki asked next, only to get a tongue-twisting reply that started with S and finished with Y.

“Is he telling you how he wishes he didn’t have to be king?” Corin interrupted from across the table.

“Shut up, Corin,” Cor retorted.

“Well, he can’t give the crown back to me.”

At that, Cor got up and crossed the length of the room with the sole purpose of thumping Corin on the shoulder. Corin thumped right back. It looked about to turn into a brawl, but Lune thundered at Corin to stop, ignoring complaints that Cor had started it first.

“You don’t want to be king?” Loki asked, surprised, once everyone had calmed down.

“By the lion, no,” Corin replied. “I prayed every day for something to deliver me from my terrible fate. I was glad enough when I got my wish, even if it came with this one’s ugly face.”

“We have the same face!” Cor exclaimed.

Corin shrugged. “Mine’s still better. You do it a disservice.” Turning back to Loki, he continued, “I mean, can _you_ think of anything worse than having to be king?”

This was a complicated question for Loki, who had for a long time wanted very badly to be king, only to feel sick with nerves when he finally became one. He evaded any personal questions by answering, “King Edmund seems happy enough.”

“Poor Edmund doesn’t know any better,” Corin said with mock pity, the way boys—across the multiverse, it seemed—affected when being condescending about their elders and betters. “He’s been king practically his whole life, before he got to have any fun. You’re a prince, too. Are you the elder or the younger? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re the younger one, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“You pretend to be all polite, but you’re full of mischief, I can see it. So, tell me. Isn’t it the life? We have all the fun. No one expects anything from us. For the most part, no one cares much whom we marry, or whether we marry at all. Ugh.” Corin pulled a face at the very thought. “We can go wherever and do whatever we please without anyone saying, “but, sire” or “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sire.” 

“I… see your point.”

Loki had never heard such views espoused before. He fell silent for the rest of the main course, lost in thought. 

“Speaking of marriage,” Lune said, having picked up a strain of conversation from the princely side of the table, “What of you and the Terebinthian king? Have you decided whether you will become his queen?”

“He’s a very good man,” Lord Col said. “It would be a good match. I met him on a trade visit a few years ago.”

Loki was pretending to be wholly absorbed in Aravis’s descriptions of her home, but listened intently. The idea of either Edmund or Lucy marrying, leaving him, leaving Narnia, had not occurred to him. Now that it had, he found it intolerable. They were _his_. Lucy could not, he wouldn’t allow...

“Oh, that’s all over with,” she said briskly, and to Loki’s great satisfaction.

“What do you mean?” asked Lord Colin.

“After the business with Rabadash, the four of us came to, er, new agreements,” Edmund said. “No more of these suits or liaisons.”

“What, so none of you are to marry?” Lord Dar asked, at the same time that Lord Darrin asked (and Loki thought), “What, live celibate like Calormen priests and priestesses?”

“It’s complicated,” Edmund mumbled. “But Peter and Susan thought it for the best. For Narnia.” 

“What about for you?” Lord Dar asked, rather bluntly.

“We’ve got Narnia, and each other,” Lucy said brightly, and then changed the subject with very firm sweetness, just as Corin distracted Loki by starting another fight with Cor. But in the back of his mind, his thoughts were racing to process this new information.

The next time Loki’s attention drifted back to the other end of the table, they were talking about Calormen and Rabadash again.

"You have no idea the expense," Edmund was saying. "But it was more than that. Convincing the survivors of his two hundred sodding horse to understand that this _ass_ was their crown prince, their leader. What made it worse is that I think some of them believed me right away, but pretended not to, because they didn't want him back. They'd have preferred him dead. By the lion, it was awkward. The letters I had to write!"

"I'm sure the Tisroc howled,” Lune said.

"The insult to my sister was of a serious enough nature that I had to restrain my pen from the scathing mockery I wanted to unleash," Edmund said. "I had to be formal, to my eternal regret. The _puns_ I had in mind!"

Loki had no doubt of it. He and Edmund had penned a few howlers together, in response to outrageous requests from diplomats and from princes who had asked a little too demandingly for Queen Lucy's hand. Loki had not known at the time that the refusals were based on some arrangement of celibacy; he’d thought Lucy simply wasn’t interested. This new tidbit of information changed everything, and also made it more depressing.

"With the exception of Prince Loki, this is the exact same company that was here in this room when the thing happened," Lord Darrin noted when fresh wine was brought. 

Lune stood, drink in hand. "Well, that is something to drink to. Another year gone by with everyone happy and hale. And a new friend made."

Everyone rose and toasted the king's speech. Loki, who had never been the object of a toast in Asgard, felt himself growing soppier and more sentimental by the minute.

(Perhaps it _would_ be best for Odin to somehow appear and spirit him away from this world, before it was too late.)

When they'd all sat down again, Edmund said, "Speaking of which… the Autumn Festival draws close." 

"Lucky Calormene," Lord Peridan said. "Narnia is already practically impassible with snow, and the skies promise a storm here at Anvard tomorrow. Meanwhile, those southerners are still in the middle of autumn. What I wouldn't give for their climate."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd lived through a Calormene summer," Aravis and Cor said at the same time. They looked at one another and blushed.

"I'd give my right arm to watch the reverse transformation," Corin said. “Oh, the looks on everyone's faces! It’ll be priceless."

"It is unbecoming of royalty," Lune reprimanded, "to want to look and laugh upon a humiliated man."

"It is, your majesty," Edmund said with a chortle, "but I must confess that part of me is of a mind with Corin. It will be the greatest spectacle of the age. But more than that, it would put my mind at ease to see with my own eyes the end of this tale, and to know that my sister’s honour has been avenged."

Never having met her, Loki didn't care one fig about the Queen Susan's precious honor. But he, too, agreed with Corin and Edmund. He rued having arrived in Narnia too late to see first transformation, and desperately wished to see its reversal. The story, still fresh, had been told and retold during his first weeks at Cair Paravel. In fact, it was the first tangible story about Aslan that he had heard. And, while it had confirmed all the fears that the name and lion's heads everywhere had immediately instilled in him, it had also made him curious.

Loki had never heard of a being this powerful, this magical. Able to create an entire world, kill witches, end winters, restore palaces, undo enchantments with a mere breath… These deeds sounded like those of the Celestials of legend. However, Loki had not expected a celestial to have such a sense of humour. Only a real wit could have dreamed up this punishment. A donkey! The detail of how Rabadash had been waggling his ears as the transformation hit him was worth the price of admission. It was a greater prank than even he, the god of mischief, had ever concocted. 

"We had this question over a year ago, and we have it again,” Lune said. “Do you really think the tale will end? Do we think he will reform? Or will he vent his spleen on us again, this time worse? Aslan’s injunction did not explicitly prohibit him from attacking us again."

"No," Lucy said, "but he won’t. His pride and his fear are too strong."

"The hermit told me Rabadash is a surprisingly well-behaved donkey, for whatever that is worth," Lord Dar said. "Apparently, he was very haughty when he first arrived back in Tashbaan, but has slowly mellowed to the point where he eats his oats without kicking the servants."

Corin, and even Cor, valiantly tried to repress giggles at this.

"The hermit?" Loki asked. "Who is that? Some spy in your employ? How does he know the intimate details of Rabadash's life in the Tisroc’s stables?"

Cor brightened, for here, apparently, was a subject he could recount as well as anyone else. He rushed to begin explaining before anyone else could. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Lune twinkle with pleasure to hear Cor speak up like this. 

Cor’s explanation gave Loki an idea for the next step in the quest that had so far eluded him. This water of the hermit’s pond sounded suspiciously like “long-seeing water”. Exactly one of the ingredients the Witch’s people had told him was needed to recreate the wand.

The only problem was that the hermit lived at the other end of Archenland, and Loki currently had no reason to visit there.

* * *

Later that evening, after the long dinner had finally ended, and the impromptu dancing petered out, Loki asked a servant where King Edmund's room might be located. Everyone was drunk, even the servants, so it took asking a few before he finally found it, in a different wing from his own. 

He knocked on Edmund's door, and heard a muffled, "I’ll be just a moment!" that sounded more like the exasperated and frustrated Edmund of the morning than Edmund of late evening. A minute later, Edmund appeared, looking flushed and embarrassed, wearing nothing but some loose sleep pants, through which Loki got even more of a sense than usual of the size of what lay inside (and that was saying something, given the shockingly thin nature of Narnian men’s breeches).

They gulped at one another. Or, rather, Loki gulped at the sight of all that pale flesh on display. It was the most undressed he’d ever seen Edmund. His hair spiked up at all angles, and his eyes were wide and smouldering, as though aroused, as though he were… But with whom, Loki couldn’t begin to guess. Peridan had only eyes for Lucy; unless Dar or Darrin…

“Loki! What… what are you doing here?” Edmund asked awkwardly, inexplicably nervous. 

Loki was already turning on his heels to leave, to hide his body’s reactions. “I’m sorry. It seems I have disturbed you. You are not alone.”

“What?” Edmund reached out to grab Loki’s wrist to keep him from leaving. The touch felt like a brand on Loki’s always cool skin. “Of course I’m alone. I’m always…” He sighed, let go, and rubbed his face. “You aren’t bothering me at all.”

Loki took a deep breath and cast a calming glamour over his midsection before turning around with a relieved smile. 

"I had a proposition for you," Loki said without thinking about what the words sounded like, and only realizing when he saw Edmund’s eyes go even wider, appalled most likely, or thinking Loki was making fun of him. "I mean…”

"Come in," Edmund said quickly. 

Loki entered a room of about the same quality as his own, though slightly larger and with a prettier view of snow-capped Narnian hills to the north. Edmund stayed on his heels and watched, almost confused, as Loki took a seat on the embroidered chair in the far corner while Edmund poured him a glass of wine. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Edmund asked eagerly, pulling a second chair clear across the room to sit facing him, so close that their knees touched.

"I was thinking more about what we discussed earlier tonight."

"You'll have to remind me what you mean. The night has turned into something of a blur."

"I refer to the desire to watch Prince Rabadash’s reverse transformation. I think we could manage it. You and me, I mean, but not a whole party. It would have to be only the two of us."

"You want to go to Tashbaan? Why?" 

"The story amuses me as much as it does everyone else. And I've been curious to see Calormen. We are already so close. Cor and Aravis made it here in less than two days. Two days there, one day for the festival, two days back. That is all we would need. It would be a wonderful prank, make for an even better tale, and set your heart at ease about Susan’s difficulties being over."

Edmund shook his head. "It's too dangerous. I will never again be welcome in Calormen. None of us will. Rabadash's pride is such that, if he were to spot me, he would have me boiled alive." 

"He can't have you boiled alive if no one knows it’s you." Loki executed a little wave with his hand that left Edmund taller, with a darker complexion, wavy brown locks, and thinner lips than the ones that had so often distracted him. 

Edmund held his hand in front of his face and marveled. 

“You know… It might be possible. But we’ll have to keep it quiet, find some neat excuse for getting away long enough. I can’t decide which is more likely: that everyone will want to come, or that they’ll try to stop us.”

“I’ll manage the magic. You manage the others.”


End file.
